I 




Glass. 
Book. 



THE 



SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 



H 2-^6 



1f 



THE 



SHEPHERDS GARLAND, 



COMPOSED OF 



GATHERINGS, 



DURING LEISURE HOURS, 



FROM WAYS OF PLEASANTNESS 



PATHS OF PEACE, 

s 

By FRANCIS SKURRAY, B.D., 

RECTOR OF WINTERBOURNE STEEPLETON, DORSET, 

AND 

PERPETUAL CURATE OF HOP. N INGSH A M , WILTS. 



Apricos necte flores 

Necte, meo Lamioe, Coronani. 

Hor. 



LONDON : 

PRINTED FOR SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, 
AND R1VINGTONS. 



3k 






HILLIAR, PRINTER, WARMINSTER. 



TO THE 

Rev. HENRY HETLEY, B.D. 

Rector of Wilton, and Prebendary of Horningsham, in the Collegiate 
Church of Heytesbury, Wilts. 



My dear Sir, 



Thirty-fife years have elapsed since the 
period of my Ordination, and the interval, with the excep- 
tion of the first six months, has been devoted to the duties of 
our delightful Village. Though the studies and services of 
Religion have ministered more satisfaction and delight, than 
even my juvenile hopes had anticipated, still they were found 
to require occasional intermissions. They, who duly consider, 
that man is a compound of Body and Soul, know, that like 
the string and the how, they would lose their elasticity and 
force, without occasional relaxation. Is it any wonder then, 
if among the enchanting scenery of this place and neigh- 
bourhood, I insensibly wandered into the regions of Taste, 
and amused myself with the delectations of Poesy ? 

The publication of one Volume, connected with these 
subjects, and the appearance of another of a similar cha- 
racter, furnish grounds for suspicion, that pursuits, which 
were resorted to as pleasing avocations, have been converted 
into predominant employments. 

You, however, my dear Sir, can attest, that more 
important business has not been forgotten, and you will 
perceive, in many of the pieces which constitute this Book, 
no infrequent sprinklings of serious sentiment and Religious 
reflection. 



VI DEDICATION. 

Memory oftentimes recurs to the period, when I have 
communed with yourself, or with other Friends, on the 
tendency of professional Truths, to throw sunshine on the 
pathway of life, and qualify for final and purchased 
beatitude. 

Christianity should not be estimated by the misrepre- 
sentations of its adversaries, nor by the distortions of its 
Friends. It appears in its 'proper character, when developed 
as " a reasonable service/' illustrated as a consolatory dis- 
pensation, and interpreted as not unfriendly to seasonable 
recreations. 

" Pure and undefiled Religion" is enhanced in beauty, 
estimation and usefulness, when contrasted with the effron- 
tery of unbelief, the hideousness of vice, the excrescences of 
superstition, and the false glare of fanaticism. 

Be pleased to excuse the liberty which is assumed of 
memorializing the harmony and confidence of our long 
connection, and permit me to hope, that you will not 
estimate the value of the offering by its merits, but by 
the sjririt which accompanies it. 

I derive honour from subscribing myself, 
Your faithful Servant, 

and affectionate Friend, 

FRANCIS SKURRAY. 



Horningsham, Wilts ; March 7th, 1832. 



INTRODUCTION 



Some of the following* productions were ap- 
pended to the First Edition of Bidcombe Hill, 
(a rural and descriptive Poem which was pub- 
lished in 1808), but were omitted in the Edition 
of 1824, by the substitution of an Essay on 
Local Poetry. 

Amongst the multifarious contents of this 
Volume, the Sonnets are the most conspicuous, 
both for their number and variety. They have 
no other title to their denomination, than as 
containing fourteen lines, which is a very slen- 
der pretension. Some of them derive their 
origin from visiting particular localities, in 
my own country, or neighbourhood, and will 
be found wandering 

" From grave to gay, from lively to severe." 

Pope. 



Vlll INTRODUCTION. 

The greater part of them attempt a description 
of scenes in countries which have never been 
traversed by my footsteps, and the chief mate- 
rials for their versification were furnished by 
spirited descriptions, aided by my own fancy, 
sentiment, and reflections. 

Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri, 

Quo me cunque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes. 

Hor. 

The remarks, which were addressed to the 
public, by an apologist of Gascoigne, (a Poet 
who flourished in the sixteenth century), may 
be predicated of myself, with regard to the 
Sonnets. 

" he freely hath bestowde 
On thee this heape of flowers, the fruites of all his toyle, 
Whereof, if some but simple seem, consider well the soyle ; 
They grew not all at home, but came from foreyne fieldes, 
The which (percase) set here again, no pleasant savour yieldes." 

It becomes me to repeat my apologies, for 
obtruding on public notice, an enlarged Edi- 
tion of " Reflections in a Country Churchyard," 
as their perusal will disadvantageously revive 
the remembrance of their unrivalled and inac- 
cessible prototype. But it will be conceded, 
that Funereal sights and reminiscences fre- 
quently come under the sensibility of the 



sss 



INTRODUCTION. IX 



Village Pastor, which may have escaped the 
cognizance of the Philosophical Bard, and 
the attempt may be forgiven, for embody- 
ing Parochial observations, in a measure, made 
practicable by his success. 

With respect to a new metrical version of 
a portion of the Psalms, and the few Hymns 
that are subjoined, they are hazarded only as 
Essays, in that species of versification. Our 
Critics have argued the extreme difficulty of 
composing Sacred Songs, from a continuity of 
unsuccessful attempts. Much occasion how- 
ever of failure would be obviated with regard 
to Hymns, by concentration, and in any new 
metrical adventures on the Psalms, singularly 
sublime and devotional parts may be selected, 
and comprised in Stanzas of sufficient length 
for Congregational Canticles. 

The designation of Garland may not be 
an inapplicable title to a Volume of this diver- 
sified character. The celebration of flowers, 
which perhaps constitutes the fairest portion of 
the Volume, assists in sanctioning the denomi- 
nation. And as all the pieces originated as 
recreations from Pastoral engagements, they 
may not be unaptly discriminated, " The 
Shepherd's Garland." 



X INTRODUCTION, 

The benevolence of the Deity, in the 
creation of the world, provides for our delight, 
as well as for our sustenance. Plants, herbs, 
and grass, invest the earth with verdure? 
which has been aptly characterized by Thomson, 
as "united light and shade," constituting a 
medium between the glare of brilliancy and the 
shadows of darkness, in attempered accommo- 
dation to the organ of vision. 

The earth too is dressed with flowers, as 
the heavens are gemmed with stars, in every 
diversity of tint and every gradation of form. 
Their tendence and culture serve for occupa- 
tion to the hands, produce ornaments for the 
hair, and furnish nosegays for the bosom, of 
female loveliness. 

But the most interesting adaptation of 
flowers was the composition of Garlands. 

" The May-pole is up, 

Now give me the cup, 
To drink to the Garlands around it ; 

But first unto those, 

Whose hands did compose 
The glory of flowers that crown'd it." 

Garlands were in requisition, on particu- 
lar Festivals, such as the Vigil of John the 
Baptist (Midsummer-eve) and on the anniver- 
saries of St. Peter and Paul, 



INTRODUCTION. 

When young men round about with ma'ides, 

Doe daunce in every streete, 
"With Garlands Avrought of Mother- wort, 

Or else with Vervaine sweete, 
And many other flowers faire." — 



To supply the loss of the productions of the 
fields and gardens, by the rigours of winter, 
Garlands were composed of gilt and silver 
streamers, and set off with spangles and gems, 
feathers and dyed linen, to imitate natural 
objects and floral colourings. The Greeks 
mingled with these artificial emblems, Flowers, 
which were preserved in their natural appear- 
ance, and to which they gave the title of Ama- 
ranths, as they never fade. 

Evergreens were sometimes put in re- 
quisition : 

" arbusia juivant humilesque myricoe." 

VlRG. 

The victors at the Grecian Gaines were 
crowned with Laurel, and Bay-leaves formed 
an honorary wreath for the brow of the Bard. 

Chaplets were formed also of evergreens, in 
our own country, at Funerals, as is evident from 
subsisting usages in secluded and half-monas- 
tical districts, and from a beautiful Ballad in 



Xll INTRODUCTION. 

"'The Maid's Tragedy," by Beaumont and 
Fletcher. 

" Lay a Garland on my hearse, 

Of the dismal yew ; 
Maidens! willow-branches bear j 

Say, I died true. 
My love was false, but I was true 

From my hour of birth ; 
Upon my buried body lie 

Lightly, gentle Earth. 



Our ancestors, by the use of these funereal 
emblems, made an appeal to the heart, more 
persuasive and touching, than the most impas- 
sioned oratory. Allusions to them were seized 
by the Poet, and transferred to the province of 
the Muses, from whence he apostrophized to 
the living, whilst he memorialized the dead. 

" The Garlands wither on your brow ; 
Then boast no more your mighty deeds j 
Upon Death's purple altar now 

See where the victor-victim bleeds : 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb : 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." 

Our men of genius never so much interest, 
as when they call for the adoption of usages , 
which belonged to a former generation. 



INTRODUCTION. Xlll 

O Lady ! twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the Cypress-tree. 
Too lively glow the lilies light ; 
The varnish'd holly's all too bright ; 
The May-flower and the Eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
But, Lady 1 weave no wreath for me, 
Or weave it of the Cypress-tree. 

' Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine, 
With tendrils «f the laughing vine ; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew 
To patriot and to sage be due ; 
The myrtle bough bids lovers live, 
But that Matilda will not give ; 
Then, Lady ! twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the Cypress-tree. 

Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; 
And, while his crown of laurel-leaves 
With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
But when ye hear the passing bell, 
Then, Lady ! twine a wreath for me, 
And twine it of the Cypress-tree. 

* Yes ! twine for me the Cypress bough ; 
But, O Matilda, twine not now ! 
Stay, till a few brief months are past, 
And I have look'd and lov'd ray last. — 
When Villagers my shroud bestrew 
With pansies, rosemary, and rue, 
Then, Lady ! weave a wreath for me, 
And weave it of the Cypress-tree." 



Shakespeare speaks of Garlands, and 
describes the flowers of which thev were to be 



XIV INTRODUCTION. 

composed, to suit three periods of human life — 
Youth, Manhood, and Age. Thus a Garland 
for Youth was to be composed of 

"flowers of the Spring that might 
Become your time of day, daffodils 
That come before the swallows dare, and take 
The winds of March with beauty : violets dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eye, 
Or Cytherea's breath: pale primroses 
That die unmarried, 'ere they can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength ; bold oxlips and 
The Crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, 
The flower-de-luce being one ! o' these I lack 
To make you Garlands of, and my sweet friend, 
To strew them o'er and o'er." 

To form Garlands for persons of middle 
age. 

" here's flowers for you : 
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjorum ; 
The marigold that goes to bed with the sun, 
And with him rises weeping : these are flowers 
Of middle Summer, and I think they are given 
To men of middle age." 

A Garland for old men. 

" Reverend Sirs, 
For you there's rosemary and rue : these keep 
Seeming and savour, all the winter long." — 

Mediocrity, by a long-recognized canon of 
criticism, is excluded from association with the 

Muses, but 

" As hearbes, in gardens, grow of sundry graces, 
Some good, some bad, some amiable faces ;" 



INTRODUCTION. XV 

so there may be Poetical herbs and flowers, of 
an useful character and moderate pretensions, 
individually, which, in combination with blos- 
soms of richer hue, more towering height, and 
broader expansion, may be so grouped, as to 
produce the agreeable effect which usually 
results from variety. 

The Shepherd's Garland is now con- 
signed to Public Courtesy, composed of floral 
gatherings from the Garden and from the 
Wilderness, from Mountains and Vallies, from 
the Hill of Si on, and the Plain of Shinar, 
which have been arranged and compacted into 
form, with my best taste and skilfulness. 

I take leave 1 of the Reader in the language 
of Gascoigne, who, exercised his fancy upon 
the subject of Flowers, more than any other 
Bard, that preceded or followed him ; " I will 
spend no more words in this preface, but I 
praie thee to smell to these posies, as flowres 
to comfort, hearbes to cure ; so have I meant 
them, and so do I beseech thee to accept them. 
Farewell." 



F. S. 



CONTENTS. 





PAGE 


Thoughts on Friendship ... ...... 


1 


Lines addressed to the Rev. W. L. Bowles, at Bremhill 


ib 


The Virgin's Grave 


2 


Human Nature ...... 


ib 


The domestic Couch . . ...... 


3 


Lines on a Torrent ...... 


ib 


Lines on the Melody of Birds 


4 


The Soldier's Adieu . . 


5 


Petrarch 


6 


The expostulation 


7 


Verses on the Pairing of Birds 


8 


The Maniac ... 


9 


The Sky Lark 


10 


Day Scenes .. 


11 


Evelina .....*. 


13 


Lines composed at Bemerton Parsonage 


14 


The Hindu Widow 


16 


The Woodlark's Grave .. 


17 


Night Scenes . . 


19 


Lines on visiting the Chamber at Stratford-on-Avon 




where Shakespeare was born 


21 


The Hermitage at Dronningaard 


23 


Ode to the River Isis 


25 


A Pastoral Ballad in four parts. 

b 


30 



XV111 CONTENTS. 



PAGl 



Sonnet on the rising Sun ... 36 

to the risen Sun ... ib 

■ on Sunset .... ...... 37 

on rural Enthusiasm , ib 

— to the evening Star 38 

on a fine Sunday Morning 39 

on rural Music ib 

on the Church Bells 40 

on Happiness ..... ib 

— on a Funeral 41 

to my Cottage ... ib 

on Death 42 

descriptive of Evening ib 

descriptive of evening Sounds, near a Nunnery 43 

on Cathedral Music ib 

— on the Nightingale 44 

— to an Aged Oak in Longleat Park ib 

to a Friend 45 

■ — : — - on Virgil's Grove at the Leasowes ib 

to the Woodlark ... 46 

to the Redbreast ... ib 

to a transplanted Tree 47 

' on revisiting Bath Grammar School ib 

on revisiting the Village of Charlcomb, near 

Bath 48 

on revisiting the Village of Swainswick, near 

Bath ib 

written on revisiting Oxford ... 49 

occasioned by a visit to Corfe Castle during a 

Hurricane ib 

» occasioned by visiting the Spot on the Caernar- 
vonshire Coast, from whence the Romans, 
as described by Tacitus, Invaded the Island 

ofAnglesea .. .... 50 



CONTENTS. 



XIX 



Sonnet on St. Gowen's Chapel, in the County of 

Pembroke 

to the Moon . .... 

descriptive of Evening, at Pertwood, Wilts 

to an Old Elm Tree 

— — on a Brook .... .... 

on revisiting the Brook .... 

on visiting Sharpham Park, in the Autumn 

of 1826 

on revisiting Sharpham Park 

to the Raven that builds its nest in the Grov 

in Longleat Park 
occasioned by attendance on the Welsh Service, 

Sunday, August 1st, 1824 

on the Sea-Coast 

on the Beach .... 

on an Embarkation 

on Setting Sail .... 

descriptive of Ruins near the Coast . 

on an incipient Voyage 

on Sunset, at Sea . . 



on Sunrise, at Sea 
on a Calm .... 

descriptive of a Hurricane 
on a Storm .... 

on a Storm .... 

on a Midnight Storm 
on a Tempest .... 
on a Shipwreck 
descriptive of foreign Scenery 
to a foreign Cottage 
on a dilapidated Castle- 
descriptive of a Lake 
descriptive of Evening 



and Manner* 



50 
51 

ib 
52 

ib 
53 

ib 
54 

ib 

55 

ib 
56 
ib 
57 
ib 
58 
ib 
59 
ib 
60 
ib 
61 
ib 
62 
ib 
63 
ib 
64 
ib 
65 



XX 



CONTENTS. 



Sonnet on Music .... 

— descriptive of a Festival 

on Climbing a rocky Eminence 

on the Profession of a Nun 

to Adeline 

on Adeline's Urn . . 

on the Hope of Immortality 

descriptive of Approach to the 

on the Alpine Eagle 

■ descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

— on the Alpine Eagle 

descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

on the Alpine Eagle 

descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

on the Old Eagle 

descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

— descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

descriptive of Alpine Scenery 

on descent from the Alps 

?— on approaching the Apennines 

descriptive of Scenes at the 

Apennines 
— — descriptive of the Apennines 
— — on ascending the Apennines 

descriptive of the Apennines 

descriptive of the Apennines 

descriptive of the Apennines 

descriptive of the Apennines 

descriptive of the Apennines 

descriptive of the Apennines 

descriptive of the Apennines 



Alps 



Foot of 



the 



CONTENTS. 


XXI 




PAGE 


Sonnet descriptive of the Apennines 


82 


descriptive of the Apennines 


83 


descriptive of the Apennines 


ib 


descriptive of the Apennines 


84 


descriptive of the Apennines 


ib 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


85 




ib 




descriptive of the Pyrenees 


86 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


ib 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


.... 87 




ib 




descriptive of the Pyrenees 


88 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


ib 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


89 




.... ib 




descriptive of the Pyrenees 


90 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


ib 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


.... 91 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


.... ib 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


92 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


.... ib 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


93 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


.... ib 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


94 


descriptive of the Pyrenees 


.... ib 




95 




*■ descriptive of the Pyrenees 


ib 




96 






iples ib 




descriptive of the Environs of Fl< 


jrencc 97 


descriptive of Scenery, near Athe 


ns . . . . ib 


descriptive of Venice 


98 


on a Gondola 


.... ib 


"- on Tyre .... 


99 



XX11 



CONTENTS. 



Sonnet descriptive of the Dead Sea and its Neigh- 
bourhood .... .... . . . . 



bourhood 


xvi.uu.iii jTiLciiui cum ita 


I'M tig 11- 

100 


The Rose 


. . 


.... 


.... ib 


The Star of Bethlehem 




.... 


101 


The Lily 




.... 


104 


The Daisy 




.... 


106 


The Sunflower 






108 


The Columbine 




.... 


..... Ill 


The Passion-Tree 




.... 


.... 115 


The Waters . . 






.... 119 


Elegiac Reflections, in a Country Churchyard, 


on the 


Evening of a Funeral . 


.... 127 


Psalm 1 .... 


.... .... 


165 


II .... 


.... .... 


166 


Ill .... 


.... 


167 


IV .... 


.... .... 


168 


V .... 


.... .... 


169 


VI .... 


.... .... 


.... 170 


VII .... 


.... .... 


.... 171 


VIII .. 


.... .... 


.... 173 


XI ... 


.... .... 


.... 174 


XII ... . 


.... .... 


.... 175 


XIII .. 


.... .... 


176 


XIV ... 




ib 


XV .... 


.... .... 


.... 178 


XVIII . . 


.... .... 


.... ib 


XVIII... 


.... .... 


180 


XIX .. 


. . . .... 


.... 181 


XX .... 


.... .... 


.... 182 


XXI .. 


. . . .... 


183 


XXIII.. 


.... .... 


.... 184 


XXIV . . 


. . 


.... 


.... ib 



CONTENTS. 



XX111 



Psalm XXVII 
- — XXIX 

XXX 

XXXV 

XXXIX 

XLI .. 

LV 

LVII .. 

LXI .. 

LXXIX 

LXXX 

LXXX VIII 

LXXXIX 

- xc .. 

XCIII .. 

CVII .. 

CVII ... 

CVII .. 

CXXI 

CXXX 

CXXXII 

CXXXVII 

CXXXIX 

CXXXIX 

Hymn for the Sacrament 

Funeral Hymn 

Hymn for the Children of 

The Redeemed 

The Judgment-Day 

Notes 



of the Lord's Supper 
National or Sunday- 



PAGE 

. . 185 
. . 187 
... ib 
... 189 
.. 192 
.. 193 
.. 194 
.. 195 
.. 196 
.. 197 
.. 199 
.. ib 
.. 201 
... 202 
.. 204 
,. 205 
... 206 

.. 207 

.. 208 
.. 209 
.. 210 
.. 212 
.. 213 
.. 214 
.. 215 
.. 216 
■Schools 217 
.. ib 
.. 219 
.. 221 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 



THOUGHTS ON FRIENDSHIP. 

False Friends, like insects in a Summer's day, 
Bask in the sunshine, but avoid the shower ; 

Uncertain visitants, they flee away, 

E'en when misfortune's cloud begins to lower. 

Into Life's bitter cup, true Friendship drops 
Balsamic sweets, to overpower the gall : 

True Friends, like Ivy, and the wall it props, 
Both stand together, or together fall. 

LINES 

ADDRESSED TO THE REV. W. L. BOWLES, AT BREMHILL. 

Sweet Bard ! from whose fertility of thought 
And noble daring kindred souls have sought, 

And found their way to fame ; 
I hear no modulations from thy lyre, 
As I approach thy dwelling, and admire 

The spot, made sacred by thy name. 

Fain would I hear thy new-strung harp, again, 
Sound midst these haunts, and echo o'er the plain, 

Now acrimonious Critics cease 
Their rage. Resume thy interrupted lays ; 
Sing of the wisdom from above, whose ways 

Are pleasant, and whose paths are Peace. 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 

THE VIRGIN'S GRAVE. 

I raise no head-stone to her name, 
Nor well-known griefs repeat ; 

She died at Spring-tide, and I deck'd 
With flowers, her winding sheet. 

Oft as I seek the house of prayer 

Upon the Sabbath day, 
On her green hillock, I will kneel ; 

Upon that altar, pray. 

There muse upon her, 'till we meet 

In yon congenial sky, 
And dream of Heaven, upon the sod, 

Where her dear relics lie. 

HUMAN NATURE. 

From his nativity to death 

Man is to sorrow prone ; 
Cries usher him into the world ; 

He quits it with a groan. 

In Infancy, in youth, and age, 

His sole support is God : 
Thro' life He guards him, and in death 

Supports him with His rod. 

So the young vine, a tender plant, 
When first it strikes its root, 

Incurs the chance of injury 
From every Pilgrim's foot, 



THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 

But round the Elm, its tendrils twine ; 

Its spiral branches rise ; 
Thro' life the Tree supports the vine, 

Nor quits it when it dies. 

THE DOMESTIC COUCH. 

How sweet to view the household door 
Returning from the troubled main, 

And taste domestic joys once more, 

And press the well-known couch again ! 

Pleasant it is, while Tempests last, 
And Hurricanes the Grove deform, 

And Windows rattle in the blast, 
To feel secure amidst the storm. 

Grateful it is, to win repose, 

When pain is foird, or sorrow ends ; 

Or in the dream, when eyelids close, 
To meet our lost, or absent friends. 

Oblivious sleep ! thy opiate give, 
Whene'er upon my couch I lie ; 

Thus, without life, how sweet to live ! 
Thus, without death,' how sweet, to die ! 

LINES ON A TORRENT. 

Behold the waters, with impetuous force, 

Rush midst the rocks, which interrupt their course ; 

Tho' only by a brief confinement pent, 

Hark ! how they brawl, and roar in discontent. 



4 THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 

Impatient murmurers ! your rage forego ; 
Soon will ye break your bondage, and will flow, 
In unobstructed current o'er the plain, 
And with accumulation seek the main, 
Nor quit the deep, until again ye rise, 
ExhaFd by heat, to hover in the skies. 

So the tumultuous passions of the soul 
Chafe against obstacles, and spurn controul, 
But quickly find their rest, amidst the bourne 
That stays their flight, and intercepts return, 

Until the Sun of Righteousness shall shine, 
And change the Human Nature to Divine ; 
And then the Spirit, from incumbrance, free, 
Shall mount the sky with native buoyancy. 

LINES ON THE MELODY OF BIRDS. 

When Lev'rets to their seats repair, 

And nightly shadows fly, 
The Larks begin to soar in air, 

Musicians of the sky. 

They quit the glebe, and take their flight, 

By sacred impulse driven : 
They mount, 'till they elude our sight, 

To join the choir of Heaven. 

The Thrush and Blackbird, on the pine, 

Alternate strains prolong ; 
At length their melodies combine, 

To form their choral song. 



THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 

The Blackbird first distends his throat, 
With voice, both loud, and clear ; 

The Thrush concludes with softer note, 
That melts upon the ear. 

Prolong, till evening shades descend, 

Sweet vocalists your lays, 
Then Philomel his voice will lend, 

To chant our Maker's praise 



THE SOLDIER'S ADIEU. 

I go, sweet maid, in England's cause, 
To be within the ship confin'd, 

And as I pace the deck, I pause 
To think of thee, I leave behind. 

When landed on a foreign shore, 
Safe from the perils of the storm, 

Should I, amidst the cannon's roar, 
Heroic feats of war perform, 

To thee, returning, I will fly, 
And all the battle's rage repeat ; 

While the tear glitters in thine eye, 
My laurels shall adorn thy feet. 

But if the sea should roar and swell, 
So that no skill the bark can save ; 

If those, who scape the wreck, shall tell 
They saw me struggle with the wave ; 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 

Or if pierc'd thro' with foreign swords, 

To fall be my unhappy lot, 
I pray in thine own parting words, 

" Forget me not," u forget me not/' 

PETRARCH. 

Stream ever limpid, fresh and clear, 

Where Laura's charms renewed are seen ; 

Ye Flowers, which kiss her heaving breast ; 
Ye Trees, 'gainst which her shoulders lean ; 

Ye Scenes, embellish'd by her steps : 

May some kind Friend when I am dead, 

(For grief will close these aching eyes) 
Place near this rural spot my head, 

And scatter holy dust around 

And lightly spread it o'er my Tomb ; 

It will illumine my abode, 

Or make me fearless of its gloom. 

Whene'er the fair, majestic Nymph 
Shall to the hallowed spot be brought ; 

When she shall view my mouldering dust, 

And mark the change that Love has wrought, 

She then may pour repentant sighs ; 

She then may drop some pitying tears, 
And, like an Infant at the breast, 

Who cannot speak his hopes and fears, 
So Laura's heart shall never find relief, 
Because she grieves, and cannot tell her grief. 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 

THE EXPOSTULATION. 

(a fragment.) 

And is it true, my Friend, thou hast forgot 
The village gambols, and thy rural Cot ? 
And canst thou still sustain the lingering hours 
In the dull shade of academic bowers, 
Where novel sports no longer intervene, 
As when our loved associates grac'd the scene. 
A Fellow, thou, of Nature's ampler school, 
Spurn the dull terror of Collegiate rule. 
Again with me, when wakes the purple morn, 
Behold the dew-drops chrystalize the thorn. 
Or see the Thrush distend his swelling throat 
On the high pine, or catch the wood-lark's note 
And oh ! if Love still interest thy breast, 
Make Emma thine ; in blessing her, be blest. 

The fickle Swallow quits our changeful skies, 
When Summer wanes and Autumn winds arise ; 
On boldest wings, he foreign coasts explores, 
Nor checks his flight, 'till reaching Lybia's shores. 
Wearied at length, for pleasures past he mourns, 
Crosses the deep and to our Land returns ; 
Charm'd with his native clime, he skims the plain. 
Seeks his lost friends and finds his home again ; 
Twitters his prattle to the rising Sun, 
Chooses a mate, and rears his nest of young. 



8 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

VERSES ON THE PAIRING OF BIRDS. 

Festa Valentino rediit lux. — 

Quisque sibi sociam jam legit ales avem. 

Buchanan. 

At stated season birds from trees and air 
To secret haunts, for choice of mates, repair. 
The genial season and the teeming grove 
Prompt their warm hearts to intermingle love. 

No more the feather'd race gregarious stray : 

In single pairs they amorously play ; 

Then take short nights, and roam, at leisure hours, 

Thro' tangled valley and thro' upland bowers. 

Sometimes they recognize, in pensive mood, 

The branch laid bare, where last year's fabric stood. 

In nook selected they construct their nests, 

Which grass involves, or budding spray invests. . 

Should rash presumption venture to invade, 

Mysterious love, protected by the shade, 

The brooding priestess cowers, then mounts on high, 

Perils to shun, or hazards to descry. 

But when she sees intruding feet depart, 

Fear quits her ruffled plumes and beating heart ; 

She drops to earth in sunny ray to bask ; 

Quick she resumes her intermitted task, 

Whilst her spouse chants, in audience of the nest, 

Unaw'd by frights, that scar'd her from her rest. — 

Dear Marianne, oh ! let the birds impart 

One genial truth, to thy unmated heart. 

No more, from morn to night, from night to day. 

Throw thy dear life gregariously away. 



THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 

Let some swain lead thee, in propitious hour, 

To rural solitudes and nuptial bower : 

Should thy heart droop with grief, or pant with fear, 

His voice would charm thee, and his love endear. 

THE MANIAC. 

(a fragment.) 

When the blast whistles in the sky 

With shrill and hollow sound ; 
When darkening clouds with tempest lower, 

And all is gloom around. 

From her straw couch the Maniac goes 

And wanders in the mead, 
To pluck from off the willow-tree, 

A branch to deck her head. 

She twines a wreath, of laurel green, 

'Midst sprigs of willow tree, 
To shew, that her true Lover fell 

'Midst feats of Victory. 

And art thou dead sweet youth (she cries) 

And art thou dead and gone, 
And must I wander thro' the world, 

Deserted and alone ? 

Will Edwin never, never come, 

To bless a maid forlorn ? 
Ah ! no ; by comrades, to his grave. 

His bleeding corse was borne. 



10 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

Curs'd be the wretch, whose perjury 
My simple heart betray'd ; 

And did not Edwin, e'en in death, 
Forget his cruel maid ? 

Yes, yes, he curs'd the jealous scorn, 
Which drove him o'er the sea : 

Oh ! no ; his latest breath was pour'd 
In kindest prayers for me. 

Blow on, ye winds ! no pitying powers 

Yon elements controul ; 
Your blackest tempests ne'er surpass'd 

The storm, that rends my soul. 

A foreign grave received his corse ; 

Oh ! he is dead and gone ; 
And I must wander, thro' the world, 

Deserted, and alone. 

THE SKY-LARK. 

The minstrel wakes at early dawn, 
Peeps, from his couch, upon the lawn, 
And rears his taper neck, and flings 
The quivering dew-drops from his wings. 
Now he forsakes his tufted bed ; 
Erects his plumes, and lifts his head, 
And leaves terrestial cares behind, 
And serenades the sleeping wind. 
But soon his treasures on the earth, 
(His young ones lately brought to birth) 
Arrest his flight — his head he bends, 
And quick, as thunderbolt, descends. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 11 

His mate seems happier, by his side, 

Than when she kenn'd his towering pride, 

And heard him sing, the clouds among, 

His nuptial, or parental song. 

He roams the Glebe, in quest of food, 

Most proper for his callow brood, 

And then, thro' air, is seen to rise, 

To chant an anthem thro* the skies ; 

And as he sings, still mounting higher, 

His strain is soft, as Seraph's lyre, 

And like a Seraph's lyre, does move 

The human soul, to heavenly love. 

Should Thunders roll, and Lightnings dart, 

Fear is a stranger to his heart. 

Tho' hid sulphureous clouds among, 

He does not intermit his song. 

Tho' wet his plumes, and tempest-driven, 

He still maintains ascent to Heaven. 

The Christian, in his Pilgrimage, 

Encounters sin and Satan's rage ; 

Shares labour, sorrow, envy, strife, 

And other storms, that darken life ; 

Still he, his onward path, pursues, 

'Till by the eye of Faith, he views 

The opening gates of Paradise, 

Which fill his soul with ecstacies. 

DAY-SCENES. 

The morning breaks ; 'midst falling showers, 
And, o'er the sky, a tempest lowers, 
And frequent thunders roll ; but soon 
The storm disperses, and at noon 



12 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

The Heavens,serene, and calm, appear, 
And the sunheam is bright and dear ; 
And tho' some rising vapours spread 
Their shadowy tints, above the head, 
Yet towards the evening we descry 
A burnish'd trackway, thro' the sky , 
Whence radiance dances thro' the trees 
That quiver to the freshened breeze, 
Which agitates, on branch and stem, 
The pearly drop and chrystal gem ; 
These, trickling down, in currents run. 
And glisten, to the setting sun. 
Our eyes pursue the sinking beam, 
'Till it is vanished, like a dream. 
Tho' viewless, still the orb of day 
Illumes the ether with its ray, 
And stationary clouds unfold 
Their purple mantles trimm'd with gold. 
But soon the glimmering spark of light 
Flies from the sky and quits our sight. 
The mind is soften'd to repose, 
As shades advance, and sunbeams close, 
And eve, with its congenial gloom, 
Recalls the silence of the tomb. — 
Cries usher in the infant's birth ; 
Storms cloud man's pilgrimage on earth, 
But frequently some rays divine 
Dart thro' the mist, and round him shine. 
At length the fast-receding world 
Appears, in rude confusion hurl'd, 
Until, by weariness opprest, 
He sinks insensiblv to rest ; 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 13 

Nor doubts he, but as from the main 
The sun will spring to light again, 
So from his death-bed he will rise, 
And shine in glory thro' the skies. 

EVELINA. 

Near the wide-spreading beech on the brow of the hill, 

I waited the dawning of day ; 
The morn kiss'd the rose, as with blushes, it sniil'd, 

To welcome the season of May. 
Dear joy of my heart, Evelina, arise, 

More fair than the bright-beaming morn ; 

More chaste, than the rosebud, when weeping with dew, 
More fragrant, than blossoming thorn. 

Thy looks are serene, as by sunbeams refin'd, 
Appears the blue face of the skies : 

The sweets of wild honeycomb dwell on thy lips ; 
Thy breath, with the apple-bloom, vies. 

Thy hair, like the plumage of Raven, is black, 

But flowing, elastic, and bright ; 
Thy neck is as fair as the down of the Swan ; 

Thy breast seems to heave with delight. 
Evelina arise. The Sun's early beam 

Thy presence descends to salute ; 
The heath, on the mountain, its blossoms reserves ; 

The vallies present their ripe fruit. 

Thy lover, tho' timid, will snatch from the crag, 

The berries, which creep, on its side, 
And pluck, from the hazel, the clustering nut, 

When shining in autumn's brown pride. 



14 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

As red as thy lips, the berries shall prove ; 
The nuts shall be ripe, like thy bosom of love. 

My Queen sweetly smiling, oh! when shall we meet 

On the verge of the murmuring flood? 
Or sit, in the cave, that is covered with moss ? 

Or prattle of love, in the wood ? 
How long wilt thou leave me, sweet damsel, declare, 

Thine absence so cruel to mourn ? 
I will sit on the prominent crag of the rock, 

Unhappy 'till thou dost return. 
My sighs will I waft to the fluttering gale, 
And mutter my grief to the flint of the vale. 
Whenever thou comest, thou welcome wilt come, 

As summer preceded by frost ; 
Evelina's return will gladden my sight, 

As sunbeams the traveller lost. 

LINES 

COMPOSED AT BEMERTON PARSONAGE, AND ADDRESSED 
TO MRS. COXE. 

I seek the solitary shade, 

By curious workmanship inlaid, 

From whence, to mark each varied scene ; 

Whatever is, whate'er has been. 

There sainted Herbert preached and pray'd; 
In yonder room, his limbs he laid 
In balmy, and recruiting rest. ^ 

Yonder, he succour'd the distrest ; > 

And there, his mem'ry still is blest. j 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 15 

Amid' these bowers, he often sate ; 
Oft sought the fields, to meditate. 

When he saw downs, or downs arise, ^ 

First mingle with, then lose the skies, > 

How aptly would he moralize, j 

That as life's journey we pursue, 
Phantoms arise to mock the view. 

When he beheld the solar ray 

Dispel night's gloom, and welcome day, 

He deeni'd each blessing, that we prize, 

An emanation from the skies. 

And when he view'd the sunshine gleam, 

Thro' showers, on Nadder's rapid stream, 

Then would arise his hopes and fears, 

For Life consists of smiles and tears. 

The River hastening to the sea 

Shew'd Time and Immortality. 

Here Norris, philosophic sage, 
Glow'd with the fire of Plato's page. 
Nadder did his Cephisus prove ; 
Those elms his Academic Grove, 
Where he escap'd the world's excess, 
And mus'd on " Truth," and " Happiness." 

In prime of Manhood Norris died ; 
Herbert aud he lie side by side, 
Waiting the inspiring call, " well done ;" 
" Come wear the Crowns, your virtues won." 

Oh ! distant may the period prove, 
That robs thee of a Husband's love. 



10 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

Long may thy bland attentions shed 
A sacred halo round his head ; 
Long may he to thy prayers be given, 
And then with Herbert enter Heaven. 



THE HINDU WIDOW. 

Who sits at yon door-way in frantic despair, 
Her forehead all brmVd and dishevelled her hair ; 
Her eyes from their sockets just ready to start, 
While her lips speak of sorrows, that burden her heart? 

A mother bereft, and refusing relief. — 
Unwilling to enter her cottage of grief, 
She sits at the threshold, decrepid and faint, 
To mourn her lost son, and repeat her complaint. 

My first-born Hureedas, oh ! where dost thou stray ? 
My image of gold, who hath snatched thee away ? 
Ah ! who hath deprived of his mother, the son ? 
I nourished and rear'd him, oh ! where is he gone ? 

Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! take me away 

To the house of the dead, to the mansion of clay. 

Thou didst play round my knees, and frisk o'er the floor ; 

Mine eyes will behold thy dear image no more. 

My Neighbours, my Neighbours, forbear to condole, 
Mine eyelids spurn solace, as well as my soul. 
My heart, it will break at the loss of my son ; 
Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 17 

O Neighbours, O Neighbours, your words may impart 
Advice to the head, which rebounds from the heart. 
My heart, to advice, is impervious as stone ; 
Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? 

My grief shall resound near my desolate cot, 
'Till I go to the Grave, where friends are forgot. 
He seem'd, by his air, to be born for a throne. 
Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? 

Shall I weep on the bank, where the willow-trees grow, 
And mingle their boughs with the waves as they flow ? 
No. My sorrows shall sprinkle the funeral stone. 
Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? 

Shall I climb to the mountain that frowns o'er the dell, 
To be nearer the spot where Hureedas may dwell ? 
I will kiss, in the vale, the turf of the dead, 
And howl, 'till I learn, where Ms Spirit is fled. 

The Grove will I seek, where the aspen tree waves 
Its murmuring leaves, o'er his Forefathers' graves ; 
And there, will I grieve for the loss of my son, 
And ask of their Ghosts, where Hureedas is gone. 

Oh ! should my son's spirit revisit the earth, 
To inspire a body just dropp'd from his birth, 
May the mother discern the soul of her son. 
Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? 

THE WOODLARK'S GRAVE. 

Companion of my lonely hour, 

When winds did blow, and tempests low'r, 

c 



18 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

Sweet warbler, thou art ever flown, 

And I must grieve, and sing alone. 

When Disappointment wrung my mind, 

And friends appeared to me unkind, 

What solace did I find in thee ! 

Oh ! thou didst prove a friend to me. 

When in my cot I sat alone, 

And heard thee sing, or saw thee moan, 

To either lot would I resign, 

And blend my joy, or grief, with thine. 

Thus I did sympathize with thee, 

And thou didst seem to feel for me. 

Alas ! thou art for ever flown, 

And I must grieve, or sing, alone. 

Altho' to birds it be not given, 

To share with man the joys of Heaven, 

Yet in the poplar-shaded dell, 

I forin'd for thee the burial cell, 

And rais'd the little tufted mound, 

Resembling graves, in holy ground. 

Oft' as thy Master passes by, 

He marks the spot, and wipes his eye : 

In fond remembrance thou shalt live : 

He has no other Heaven to give. 

When I shall yield my lingering breath, 
And prove my constancy by death, 
May some kind friend my corse inter, 
Close by thy little sepulchre, 
Where thou, dear bird, dost now forget, 
A fellow lur'd thee to the net ; 
Where I, when to the dust consigned, 
Shall cease to think some friends, unkind. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 19 

Iii Summer when the aspen trees 
Shall rustle in the evening breeze, 
Thither the love-lorn swain shall go, 
And secretly indulge in woe. 
The sigh, which his heart's blood had cost, 
Shall, in the balmy breeze, be lost ; 
The tears, that from his eyelids flow, 
Shall mingle, with the stream below, 
And kindred sympathy impart 
Congenial solace, to his heart. 

NIGHT SCENES. 

The sun, that had prolonged the day, 
Reposes in the western bay, 
And evening has her curtain spread, 
To shroud him in his watery bed. 
He casts the mantle, of his light, 
Over the waking queen of night. 
And as her destined course is run, 
She owes her splendor to the sun. 

The Winds are hush/d — the Heavens are fair, 

And Meteors die away in air, 

Whilst Stars, upon the Moon, attend, 

And all their radiations lend, 

Both to precede, and close her train, 

While she enlivens land and main ; 

And as she decks the azure space, 

We gaze upon her dimpled face ; 

And the awaken'd fancy hears 

The music of the rolling spheres, 

Which cheers her course and speeds her flight, 

During her progress thro' the night. 



20 THE SHEPHERD'S GaRLAND. 

The Vapours now thro' ether dance, 
Sometimes retreat, sometimes advance, 
To hide the sparkling orbs of light, 
But cannot screen them from our sight ; 
For thro' the mist they force their way, 
'Till greeted by the lord of day ; 
And then the Moon suspends her force, 
And stays her chariot in its course. 
She then throws off her borrowed vest, 
And, with the stars, retires to rest. 

Religion and her train appear, 

As radiant, in their hemisphere, 

As do the brilliant orbs of night, 

When they send forth unsullied light. 

Too soon, the cloud of error spreads 

Its thickening vapours, round their heads ; 

But soon celestial fervors glow, 

And pierce the mists, that float below. 

The beam, that penetrates distress, 

Springs from the Sun of Righteousness ; 

And Faith and Hope, which gleam from far, 

Like morning, and as evening star, 

Their frequent coruscations dart, 

To charm the mind, and cheer the heart, 

And shine, on life's benighted way, 

Till lost, in empyrean day ; 

While Psalms and Hymns the pains assuage, 

Of Man's terrestial pilgrimage, 

And Angels' harps are heard, on high, 

To cheer his course with minstrelsy ; 

And as he sinks, with toil opprest, 

They serenade him to his rest. 

The Sun and Moon will never rise 

To spread their lights in other skies ; 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 21 

They will fall down, or turn to blood : 
And e'en the spot, on which we stood, 
Shall moulder into dust, like clay, 
And, burnt with fire, consume away. 
But this combustion will give birth 
To an illuminated earth, 
To which the power will be given, 
To wear the face, and smiles of Heaven. 

LINES 

ON VISITING THE CHAMBER AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON, 
WHERE SHAKESPEARE WAS BORN. 

Whilst high and lofty Domes are shown, 
"Where men were born, who fill'd a Throne, 
This humble chamber boasts a birth, 
Which all the Palaces, on Earth, 
Would be too proud to call their own, 
And men would claim, who wear a Crown. 

I pace aTound the humble spot ; 

All other subjects are forgot, 

Or deem'd unsuitable for fame, 

But Shakespeare's birth, and Shakespeare's name. 

For in this room, so dark and worn, 

Our great Dramatic Bard was born ; 

And here was heard the Father's joy, 

That his first Infant prov'd a boy ; 

And here the new-made Mother smil'd, 

As she surveyed her only child, 

And deem'd her lingering pains, surpast, 

By such a progeny, at last. 

Here Light first flashed on Shakespeare's eyes : 

Here startled, by her infants' cries, 



22 the shepherd's garland 

The Mother clasp'd him to her breast, 
And husb/d his pain, by food and rest. 

Here too, the Child was taught to pray ; 
And here, he first was heard to say 
The filial prayer, and sacred verse 
Which Children, day by day, rehearse. 

Grown up to Youth, he us'd to rove 
Amidst the shade of Welcome Grove ; 
He gloried in the Avon's tide, 
As he pac'd musing, on its side, 
Or mark'd the Swan erect his crest, 
To scare intruders from his nest. 
He viewM the flocks, and heard the Steed 
Neigh to his fellows, in the Mead. 
He saw the Larks arise, to sing, 
Whilst Cuckows, heralds of the Spring, 
From thorny bush and wither'd Tree. 
Monotoniz'd on Jealousy. 

When Aspen boughs began to play 
A requiem to departing Day, 
He would return, and then retire, 
To tune his harp, or string his lyre ; 
And his own birth-place he would chuse 
To breathe the whisperings of his Muse, 
And shape the melodies to rule, 
Which he had learnt in Natures' school. 

Stay Passenger, and look around ; 
This chamber is the Muses' ground ; 
And it is crumbling to its fall, 
With all the Names, that grace the wall ; 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 23 

But Shakespeare's character will staud, 
The pride and glory of the Land, 
Till Mountains sink, and rocks decay, 
And Nature's self shall melt away. 

THE HERMITAGE AT DRONNINGAARD. 

What is that Pile, in yonder bower, 
Whose roof is pervious to the shower, 
And round whose walls the Ivy clings, 
And where the solitary blackbird sings ? — 
The little Brook that murmur'd nigh, 
Check'd is its course, its channel dry. 
The Grave, with pansies neatly drest, 
Affords some wearied Pilgrim rest. 
The sculptur'd Column will proclaim 
The Pilgrim's age, the Pilgrim's name. 

Full twenty years ago, or more, 
A Stranger, from a foreign shore, 
Requested leave to build a cell, 
Where he, in privacy, might dwell. 
The spot he view'd, with most regard, 
Was in the vale of Dronningaard. 
Within a solitary wood, 
The little straw-roof'd Cottage stood ; 
With moss, the Hermitage he lin'd, 
And bark defended it, from wind. 
Thro' the rude rock the waters play'd, 
And o'er a bed of pebbles stray'd. 
The Willow, o'er the streamlet, spread 
Its pensile boughs, and dipp'd its head. 
Suspended, by the Willow's side, 
Fell the Laburnum's golden pride. 



24 the shepherd's garland. 

The Jessamine still yearly blows 
And mingles fragrance with the Rose, 
And the sweet Lily of the vale 
Impregnates still the vernal gale. 

Remote from scenes of war and strife, 
The Courtier liv'd a Hermit's life. 
He fed on herbs and coarsest fare, 
His beard was long, and rough his hair. 
His face assum'd a serious mood ; 
The hour-glass in his Window stood ; 
Or he would hold it in his hand, 
And watch each falling grain of sand. 

But tho' to Solitude inclin'd, 
He oft would recreate his mind, 
Amid' the Labours of the fields, 
Or with the joys, that Converse yields, 

With what rapture in the Spring, 
Would he hear the wood-lark sing ! 
In Summer he would bend his way, 
Where Village Maids were making hay. 
In Autumn, at the early Morn, 
He helped the Gleaner's gather corn. 
Then to the Forest he would stray, 
And cut th' obtruding branch away, 
And cast it in the wood-girl's way. 
Returning home to dress her food, 
She form'd a fagot of the wood, 
And as she rested from her toil, 
And as the Evening pot did boil,'< 
Around the hearth the converse ran, 
To bless the charitable Man. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 25 

In Winter all the neighbouring poor 
Would crowd within the Hermit's door; 
And as the experienc'd Sage would tell 
The fortune that his youth befel, 
Down every cheek the tears would run, 
Ere half the varied tale was done. 

Near to his solitary shed, 

He chose a spot to lay his head. 

He dug, on each succeeding day, 

A portion of his bed of clay, 

And when his pious work was done, 

He then inscrib'd his funeral Stone. 

EPITAPH. 

Reader ! the man that lies beneath this sod, 
Conversed with Nature and with Nature's God ; 
Morning and eve, his orisons he paid, 
And join'd the chorus in the woodland shade. 

Go, Pilgrim, hence, for other Worlds prepare ; 
Go, seek the blessings, that await thee there. 
From Earth, thy heaven-directed thoughts remove, 
And antedate, below, the joys above. 

ODE TO THE RIVER ISIS, 

ADDRESSED TO THE REV. WILLIAM BROOKLAND, A. M. 
VICAR OF NETHERBURY, DORSET. 

Embower'd amid thy willow trees, 

Hail ! sacred Isis, hail ! 
Oft on thy stream, I caught the breeze, 

And trimm'd the swelling sail. 



26 THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 

And as my little bark would ride, 
Rock'd by the billows of thy tide, 

Perchance wild schemes engag'd my mind. 
Sometimes I view'd yon ample Dome ; 
Sometimes I thought upon my home, 

And Friends, I left behind. 

Oft at the peeping of the dawn, 

I swept away the dews, 
While, on the margin of thy lawn, 

I woo'd the timid Muse ; 
Thy Form, majestic, rose to view, 
And seem'd my footsteps to pursue, 

And as I pac'd thy banks along, 
And as I kenn'd thy gliding stream, 
Imagination's brooding dream 

Inspir'd an artless song. 

Memory, e'en now, delights to trace 

Fancy's first rugged line, 
And mark the progress af its pace, 

Since first it woo'd the nine. 
So the fledg'd Larks, unus'd to fly, 
At first, but short excursions try ; 

For stronger flights they soon prepare ; 
Embolden'd by their Parent's skill, 
They learn to flutter o'er the hill ; 

Then warble high in air. 

When Sirius melted every breeze, 
And languid Nature sought to lave, 

O'ercanopied by willow-trees, 

I plung'd beneath thy freshening wave. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 27 

My Spaniel oft would chase the coot 
From marsh, or sedge, or tangled root, 

To brake near Ifpley tower : 
Our scatter'd Friends at Sandford met ; 
By turns, we either threw the net, 

Or sail'd for Nuneham's bower. 

Sometimes I row'd against the tide, 

To Wytham village bound, 
Where the proud Pile, on every side, 

"Was fenc'd with moated ground. 
And soon to Godstow's hallow'd seat, 
I turn'd my unreluctant feet, 

And pass'd the Convent gate ; 
Then would I saunter near the pond, 
Where bath'd the beauteous Rosamond, 

And ponder o'er her fate. 

The Sculptor lavish'd all his art, 

Upon the frail one's Tomb, 
Which occupied the choicest part, 

Within the cloister'd gloom. 
It stood on consecrated ground, 
And lamps illumin'd it around, 

And Priests their censers swung : 
Whence, through the Dome, the incense spread ; 
Masses were offered for the dead, 

And Nuns a requiem sung. 

But oh ! full soon those honours fled 

Which gratitude had paid : 
Such rites await the virtuous dead, 

Not a dishonored maid. 



28 the shepherd's garland. 

The Prelate order'd, out of door, 
The Corpse beneath the Chapel floor, 

To fill unhallow'd ground. 
The Tomb and ornaments were raz'd ; 
The Fane was dim, where torches blaz'd ; 

Unheard the Requiem's sound. 

1 quit the venerable Pile 

Where musing I had stood, 
And with new thoughts, or song, beguile, 

My passage down the flood. 
Quickly I hoist the shatter'd sail, 
Expanding to the passing gale 

Which threats an instant shower. 
I quickly land on Christchurch Mead, 
And seek my sheltering home with speed, 

In Merton's ancient bower. — 

With partial fondness we retain 

The sense of pleasures past, 
Mingled however with some pain, 

To think how short they last. 
Vain is the task for man to mourn 
Pastimes, that never can return ; 

Yet all mankind past pleasures prize : 
The Mother, placing all her joy, 
Upon her dead, and darling boy, 

Would pluck him, from the skies. 

But ah ! my Friend, why should we mourn. 

That pleasures fly so fast ? 
Why sigh for days that ne'er return, 

Or sorrow for the past ? 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 29 

Youth's dangerous stage of life is run, 
In which so many are undone. 

We should rejoice that, in our youth, 
We never wantonly did stray, 
Far from the paths of Wisdom's way, 

Nor from the line of Truth. 

If airy projects now be fled, 

Which once inflam'd the breast ; 
If ardent impulses be dead, 

Or calin'd to holy rest : 
The high pursuits of solid Truth 
Transcend the short-liv'd joys of youth, 

And thus we spend our day ; 
To us the godlike task is given 
To point the sacred road to Heaven, 

And lead ourselves the way. 



30 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

A PASTORAL BALLAD 

IN FOUR PARTS, 
AFTER THE MANNER OF SHENSTONE. 

Non ita certandi cupidus, quam propter amorem 

Quod te imitari aveo. 

Lucret. 

LOVE. THE RECONCILIATION. 

THE REFUSAL. WEDLOCK. 

In amore hoec omnia insuiit vitia, 

Suspiciones, inimicitice, inducice, injurice, 

Bellum, Pax rursura. 

Ter. 

I. LOVE. 

Res est soliciti plena timoris amor. 

Ovid. 

The Sun sheds its heams from the skies ; 

The Woodlands with melody ring ; 
To greet the new day I arise, 

And hail the enchantments of Spring. 
The fields seem with gladness to smile, 

As o'er their green surface 1 rove ; 
The wearisome day I beguile, 

Amidst meditations on Love. 

I muse on the Maid of my heart, 

Who wounded my peace when a boy. 
What pain does her image impart ! 

What pleasing sensations of joy ! 
I knew she was modest, and young ; 

I fancied her loving, and kind, 
For Harmony dwelt on her tongue, 

And Wisdom embellished her mind. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 31 

How long have I stay'd on the green, 

To watch if my charmer would come ; 
I fear, if the Maid be not seen, 

Some Rival detains her at home. 
From my bosom vain scruples depart ! 

Away apprehensions of fear ! 
It never shall enter my heart, 

That Phillis can prove insincere. 

When Sunbeams enpurple the West, 

I home to my Cottage repair ; 
I sink on my pillow to rest, 

A stranger to doubt and despair. 
But Hope proves delusive and vain ; 

How few are the mortals, who know, 
That bliss is succeeded by pain ; 

That joy is the prelude to woe. — 

II. THE REFUSAL. 

Xahewbv to jx)) (plXTjaal 
XaXt'&oi' 8e Kal (f>i\ri<rai 
XaAe-arwregov Se isrdvTwv 
AtffOTiryx^ v ^ v **As"vra. 

Anacreon. 

Vce misero mihi ; heu quanta de spe decidi. 

Ter. 

The Sun is obscur'd by a cloud, 

And Lightnings illumine the air ; 
The Thunder is heavy and loud, 

And cattle to shelter repair. 
The Storm spreads its darkness, like night ; 

How gloomy is Nature and wild ! 
The Mother, alarm'd at the sight, 

Enshrines, in her bosom, her child, 



32 the shepherd's garland. 

A tempest I foel in my mind, 

Excited by jealousy's fears ; 
My Phillis no longer proves kind, 

But deaf to entreaties and tears. 
The blasts, which destroy as they fly ; 

The clattering Thunder's loud peal ; 
The gloom, that envelopes the sky, 

Fall short of the horrors I feel. 

My Phillis was heard to declare, 

That she lov'd a much wealthier Swain ; 
She wears, in a locket, his hair ; 

She looks upon me, with disdain. 
My presence she hastily flies, 

And absence her image endears ; 
I waft, to the whirlwind, my sighs, 

And add to the Flood, by my tears. 

My fondness 1 strive to o'ercome, 

And banish her far from my mind ; 
My thoughts will not tarry from home ; 

To Phillis they still arejconfin'd. 
The Needle's my emblem I see, 

(So constant and true is my Soul) 
Which, tho' toss'd by the billows at sea, 

Still, trembling, returns to the Pole. 

In the dreariest cave of the Grove, 

Th' impertinent rabble I shun ; 
I mourn and lament, like a Dove, 

Bereft of its mate, or its young. 
When darkness succeeds the noon -day, 

And cattle lie buried in sleep, 
I listen to Philomel's lay, 

And all the night wander, and weep. 



33 

III. THE RECONCILIATION. 
Amantium irae amoris integratio est. Ter. 

The Thunder's loud clangor is past ; 

The Rainbow peeps over the hill ; 
The storm is gone by, and at last, 

The voice of the Tempest is still. 
The Cattle disperse the thick dew, 

As they hie to their pasture again ; 
The Songsters their carols renew, 

And Lambs frolic over the plain. 

Since Phillis, in pity, has smil'd, 

The tempest is hush'd, in my breast. 
Her looks every pain have beguiPd, 

And charm'd my distractions to rest. 
A slight, or a frown, from the fair, 

Spreads round Love's horizon a gloom ; 
But their smiles can banish despair, 

And sunshine succeeds in its room. 

I carried a Lamb to my fair, 

Which, with garlands of flowers, she drest ; 
I gave her a lock of my hair ; 

The ringlet she wears at her breast. 
I often protest to be kind, 

And seal every vow with a kiss ; 
No charm could inspirit my mind, 

But visions of conjugal bliss. 

No more- let fond Shepherds despair, 

If damsels be distant and coy ; 
Refusal, they all are aware, 

Serves only to heighten our joy. 



34 the shepherd's garland. 

Preceded by clouds, Poets sing, 
The Sun wears a heavenlier form, 

And we hail, with rapture, the Spring, 
Releas'd from the winterly storm. 

IV. WEDLOCK. 



Felices ter et amplius 
Quos irrupta tenet copula. 

Hor. 



The Morning at length is arrived 

That makes me more blest than a King. 
From the Church, Phillis comes as my Bride ; 

The Village bells merrily ring. 
Ye Turtles, chaste emblems of love, 

Your amorous melodies join ; 
And resound, with me, thro' the Grove, 

That Phillis for ever is mine. 

And if thy dear bosom, sweet maid, 

Ere doubted the truth of my flame, 
Oh ! never again be afraid ; 

Thou bearest thy Corydon's name. 
Come, chase perturbations away, 

Nor doubt, but that blest we shall be, 
When I, with affection, repay 

The pangs thou hast suffer'd for me. 

When Tempests Creation deform, 
And Lightnings emblazon the sky, 

The Sailor, half-wreck'd midst the storm, 
Imagines, 'ere long, he shall die. 

But when the rude tumult subsides, 
He reaches, in safety, the shore ; 



THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 35 

His bark, in security, rides ; 

He dreams of past perils no more. 

Oh ! stifle those tears in thine eyes — • 

Let happiness feel no alloy ! 
Kind youth ! do not check me (she cries) 

What, if they be tears full of Joy. 
In more copious streams, I replied, 

Sweet Maid, let the pearly drops flow, 
Since from fountains of pleasure deriv'd, 

And not from new sources of woe. 

Ye invisible Powers, above, 

Who watch for the good of mankind, 
Propitiously favour our love 

Whom Wedlock together has join'd ; 
Our praise shall like incense ascend ; 

Our hearts to soft musings be given ; 
Our knees, night and morning, shall bend ; 

Our hands be uplifted to Heaven, 



36 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET I. 

ON THE RISING SUN. 

The sun awakes from sleep, and quits his bed, 

And like a Bridegroom shews his blushing head. 

All Nature stirs from slumber, into life, 

As day-light conquers darkness, in their strife 

For mastery. The flowers are gemm'd with dew ; 

The Birds, alert, their orisons renew ; 

And man unto his daily labour goes, 

And only, with the Sun, will seek repose. 

Rise, healing Sunbeam, with thy light divine ; 

Dart thro' my soul, and round my footsteps shine : 

And when the Sun shall into darkness turn, 

And the Inhabitants of Earth shall mourn ; 

And Rocks and Mountains, from their base, be driven ; 

Be Thou, my Light, my guide, my way, to Heaven. 

SONNET II. 

TO THE RISEN SUN. 

Thou seem/st to roll in the ethereal field, 
Bright as a Lamp, and round as Warrior's shield ; 
Before thy beams the constellations start, 
And lay aside their lustre, and depart. 
The startled Moon escapes from thee, and braves 
The tide and tossings of the Ocean waves. 
But thou dost march, undaunted, in thy sphere, 
Without the dread of molestation near. 
When Tempests gather, and obscure the sky ; 
When Thunders rattle, and the Lightnings fly, 
Thou dost look down, and shew thy radiant form, 
Defy the blast, and penetrate the storm ; 
Mingle thy lustre, with the pattering rain, 
To form the sign, that speaks of Peace again. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 37 

SONNET III. 

ON SUNSET. 

The Sun forsakes his Throne amongst mankind, 
And leaves his azure canopy behind. 
The gates fly open, in the farthest west, 
As He departs to take his evening rest. 
The Ocean waves approach him to behold 
His diadem of gems, and robes of gold. 
They swell with wonder, tremble and admire, 
Now court his presence, then thro* fear retire, 
Whilst He is hovering o'er the watery way : 
The clouds are tinctur'd with his parting ray. 
But soon they cease to redden to the view, 
And re-assume their own ethereal blue. 
Amidst the coral caves He shall employ 
The sleeping hours, and rise again in joy. 

SONNET, IV. 

ON RURAL ENTHUSIASM. 

When, in the Morn or Eve, I lift mine eyes 

Up to the Eastern, or the Western skies, 

Imagination pictures to my view, 

Angelick forms, of every shape and hue, 

Which hover round, and beckon me away, 

To founts of light, and everlasting day : 

And Mem'ry recognizes in their train 

Friends who had died, and sprung to life again. 

And warblings seem to vibrate on my ears, 

Which charm my heart, and swell mine eyes with tears. 

Fancy awakes from its ideal dream : 

No sound is heard but from the breeze or stream : 

No Spirits, thro' the sky, their courses run, 

But clouds of pearl enliven'd by the Sun. 



38 the shepherd's garland, 

SONNET V. 

TO THE EVENING STAR. 

The Moon appears not in the East, or West ; 

Is she retired to temporary rest ? 

Or in her Chamber does she sit and weep ? 

Or on her Couch does she retire to sleep ? 

We mourn her loss the less, fair gem of night, 

Cheer'd by the scintillations of thy light, 

Which Youths and Damsels mark, and dream of love, 

As they survey thee in the fields above. 

The Poet sees thee sparkle in the rill. 

And gild the summit of the distant hill. 

The mourner draws a lesson for the heart, 

As he beholds thee smile, and then depart. 

The Saint, to whom the purest thoughts are given, 

Looks to thy orb, and meditates on Heaven. 

SONNET VI. 

TO THE EVENING STAR. 

Star of celestial origin, thy light 

Cheers the Swain's heart thro' his enraptured eyes ; 

His Fancy deems thy twinkling orb more bright, 

Than all the Constellations in the skies. 

When dimmed thy lustre by the clouds or rain, 

Still dost thou glitter in thy orbit clear, 

And all thy gay realities retain, 

Tho' seasons change, and variegate the year. 

Fancy would whisper, that, in thy retreat, 

Angelick forms to our lost Friends are given, 

Who ward from danger, and conduct our feet, 

Thro' labyrinths on Earth to rest in Heaven. 

Celestial Star ! oh ! when shall we become 

Children of Light, and inmates of thy home. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 39 

SONNET VII. 

ON A FINE SUNDAY MORNING. 

The chiming Bells proclaim the day of rest : 

The Sun's bright beams the Sky and Earth adorn ; 

The daily Labourer, with toil opprest, 

With rapture hails each cheerful Sabbath morn, 

And in God's Temple hopes the day to spend ; 

And as He hastens to the house of God, 

He casts a side-long glance upon the sod, 

Where lies interr'd the Parent, or the Friend. 

The ruddy Damsel, when the bell has ceas'd, 

Walks down the aisle, with hurrying pace, but stops, 

While, with becoming decency, she drops 

An awkward curtsy to the surplic'd Priest. 

Hail ! day of holy joy, by thee is given 

Rest to the poor to qualify for Heaven. 

SONNET VIII. 

ON RURAL MUSIC. 

Mine be the bliss, when early Sunbeams play, 

To hear the sky-lark usher in the day ; 

Or in the quiet of secluded Groves, 

To hear the blackbirds charm their list'ning loves ; 

Or 'mid the silence of the lonely dale, 

To hear at night the wakeful Nightingale, 

When (by the plaintive accents of her tongue) 

She mourns her absent mate, or plundered young. 

Mine be the bliss, when dreary Winter lowers, 

When Birds are mute, and leafless are the bowers, 

To hear at eve seolian Music play, 

Now in high-sounding notes, then dying soft away. 

The varying tones such ecstacies impart, 

As often thrill, and sometimes melt the heart. 



40 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET IX. 

ON THE CHURCH BELLS. 

Sweet is the minstrelsy of distant bells, 

As down the stream their soften'd measures glide ; 

Shrill are their sounds amidst sequestered dells, 

When wafted to my ears, they on the whirlwind ride. 

Hail cheerful notes ! The notes have died away ; 

Thou, merry peal, how soon thy strains are o'er ; 

Strike up, that I may muse upon the day, 

When Phillis shall be mine, and we shall part no more. 

Again the Bells, in pity to my prayer, 

With cheerful notes enchant my list'ning ear ; 

Borne on the rustling pinions of the air, 

They waken nuptial thoughts, and banish fear. 

A thousand schemes my busy heart employ, 

And all is fluttering hope, and every breeze is joy. 

SONNET X. 

ON HAPPINESS. 

What various paths adventurous men pursue, 

Searching, both here, and there, for happiness ! 

Each airy project seems to mock their view, 

With hopes fallacious, wanting power to bless. 

Amid' the battle's din, the Soldier tries 

For Happiness, and in the contest dies. 

The sordid Miser, rich enough before, 

Contracts his heart, when God augments his store. 

Anxiety, not bliss, is their reward, 

Who spurn the poor, and midst their plenty, starve. 

Thrice happy they, who in some lonely glen, 

Contented live, in a retir'd abode ; 

There at a distance, from the ways of men, 

They commune with their hearts, and muse on God, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 41 

SONNET XL 

ON A FUNERAL. 

Lo ! in the Coffin's cell the poor man lies ; 

His Sand's last grain is gone, and spent his hours : 

No lustre sparkles in his half-clos'd eyes ; 

His shrouded corse is sprinkled o'er with flowers. 

His Friends and Relatives approach the bier, 

To mark the smile, which Death could not efface. 

Some melt in pity, others start with fear, 

Whilst they press hands, and give the last embrace. 

Behold him now, on friendly shoulders borne, 

To occupy his clay-cold bed of rest ; 

See ! how his wife and orphan children mourn ; 

Some lift their hands in prayer, some smite the breast. 

But when the Bearers dust to dust convey, 

The Widow shrieks, and sinking, dies away. 

SONNET XII. 

TO MY COTTAGE. 

Dear lovely Cot, I see thy smoke ascend 

In trailing Columns, thro' the noon-tide day ; 

I mark the spot, where oft' times with a Friend, 

I charm the hours of solitude away. 

My throbbing heart feels exquisite delight, 

W^hen peeping thro' the Trees, thou meet'st my sight. 

No fairy scenes, where'er I turn'd my feet, 

Or to the Mountain's brow, or Cataract's foam, 

Could e'er seduce me from thy lov'd retreat ; 

They fix'd my thoughts, and bound me to my home. 

And see ! the Dog, (Companion of my way, 

When o'er the fields I desultory stray) 

Gladden'd at heart, to see his lord once more, 

Hails my return, and greets me at the door. 



42 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET XIII. 

ON DEATH. 

I see that all men hasten to their end — 

One day we lose a Neighbour, next a Friend : 

The Babe that spake its pleasure as it smil'd, 

Is in its blossom nipt, and then the child, 

That prattled sweetly on his Mother's knee, 

Struggles with bondage, and at length is free. 

But as the Sun reclines his purple head, 

And gathers strength in his sepulchral bed, 

And hopes to wake from slumbers, and at length 

To rise in beauty, and increase in strength ; 

So when the Christian yields his short-liv'd breath. 

And falls asleep upon the couch of death, 

He knows the sparks ethereal will not die, 

But kindle glory, in a purer sky. 

SONNET XIV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF EVENING. 

The Sun is sinking in the western sky 
In all its trailing pomp of pageantry, 
But its withdrawing coruscations soon 
Will, by reflection, glimmer in the Moon. 
Now the last gleam has vanish'd from the sight, 
And waking Bats are busy for their flight ; 
The soften'd tinklings of the distant bell 
Steal on the gale, like ripple from the well ; 
The bleating Lambs prepare themselves for rest, 
Then sink to slumber upon Nature's breast. 
The breezes swell, as Evening shades advance, 
And serve as Music to the Fairies' dance. 
The Cataract roars, increas'd by recent showers, 
And balmier odours spring from herbs and flowers. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 43 

SONNET XV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF EVENING SOUNDS, NEAR A NUNNERY. 

The Chimes begin to vibrate thro' the air, 
And introduce the hour of Evening prayer ; 
The Fountain bubbles, 'till it reach the flood, 
And waving aspens lull the sleepy wood. 
The quivering notes of female lips begin 
To chant, in symphony, the vesper hymn. 
Sweet is the strain, altho' the words be given 
To her, misnamed the Virgin Queen of Heaven. 
Now Music sounds the woods and rocks among 
Clear as the notes of Philomela's song, 
At midnight heard. It trembles in the sky 
With quivering undulation, and seems nigh. 
It pauses on the ear, with fond delay, 
And speaks of sorrow, as it dies away. 

SONNET XVI. 

ON CATHEDRAL MUSIC. 

The Organ's deepened tones burst on my ears — 

My heart was touch'd, mine eyelids swell'd with tears. 

I clasp'd my hands, and faintly drew my breath, 

As I stood list'ning o'er the cells of death. 

The rumblings pause. The voices now go free, 

As (when the winds are hush'd) the melody 

Of birds, first faintly heard, then mounting higher, 

Like modulations from a Seraph's lyre. 

Again, the vollied intonations sound, 

Shaking the walls, and piercing, under ground, 

Death's echoing caverns. The aspiring Soul 

Bursts earthly trammels, as the concords roll 

In Harmony. The House of God is riven 

With Jubilee, and Earth is charm'd to Heaven. 



44 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET XVII. 

ON THE NIGHTINGALE. 

The Moon shines bright; the Stars their light disclose; 

The Birds are hush'd to silence, and repose, 

Save Philomel. He, watchful, and forlorn, 

His Partner serenades, whilst she the thorn 

Points to her bosom, lest she sink to rest. 

And prove a faithless Guardian of their nest, 

His intonations, both of hope and fear, 

Alternate swell, and die upon the ear. 

Some of the notes a tenderness impart, 

And some an elevation to the heart. — 

Lord ! if to mortals, sojourning on Earth, 

Such sweetly-warbled orisons be given, 

To what high strains shall not thy love give birth, 

When Saints shall rise, and tread the Courts of Heaven ? 

SONNET XVIII. 

TO AN AGED OAK, IN LONGLEAT PARK. 

As Summer smiles, again my footsteps stray, 

To hail thee, monarch of the lawn, and pay 

Thee Druid's reverence. Some limbs since last 

We bade adieu, are sever'd by the blast. 

Within their crevices the Squirrel rests. 

And Daws and Starlings fabricate their nests. 

Bulky thy trunk, whence forked branches spring, 

And bald the sprig where missel thrushes sing ; 

Thy lower apertures a grot disclose, 

Where Fawns are shelter'd, and where Lambs repose ; 

Thy roots, tho' bare and wreath'd with many a fold, 

Grapple with Earth, and occupy their hold, 

And may maintain their unmolested seat, 

'Till rocks are rent, or melt with fervent heat. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 45 

SONNET XIX. 

TO A FRIEND. 

When grief sat brooding o'er my heavy heart, 

And he, who caus'd the pain, his aid denied, 
With speech emollient thou didst ease impart, 

And o'er the growing sorrow didst preside, 
With prophecies of good. Kind-hearted man, 
Thus to resemble the Samaritan, 
Who, when the wounded Traveller he saw 

Half-dead, and weltering on the crimson ground, 
Obey'd great Nature's universal Law, 

And pour'd the balmy mixture on his wound, 
And plac'd him, gently, on his duteous beast, 

Whilst, in the spirit of hard-hearted pride, 
The churlish Levite, and unfeeling Priest 

Look'd on the spot, and pass'd the other side. 

SONNET XX. 

on virgil's grove at the leasowes. 

If ever bower was form'd for Lady's love, 
The Leasowes has it in its Virgil's grove. 
Shady the scene, and lonely is the dell, 
Where Dryads haunt, and Naiads love to dwell — 
There warbles Philomel his melting lays ; 
From mossy rock the chrystal fountain plays. 
The violet, there, unseen, its fragrance spreads, 
And various wild flowers hang their purple heads. 
The lulling waterfall and whispering breeze 
Unite their melodies with aspen Trees. 
There glow-worms light their phosphorescent fire, 
To lure their mates, and kindle chaste desire. — 
If ever Bower was fram'd for Lady's love, 
The Leasowes has it, in its Virgil's grove. 



46 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET XXI. 

TO THE WOODLARK. 

Aerial Minstrel hover o'er my head ; 

Prolong thy notes of joy unmix'd with woe ; 
Supply the place of the dear Charmer dead, 

Which lies interr'd, within the Grove below. 
Midst these lov'd haunts, compose thy slender nest ; 

Here, let thy mate her eggs securely lay ; 
No boys, adventurous, shall her peace molest ; 

In her defence I scare them all away. 
And when maternal care shall hatch its brood, 

Morning and eve, my hands shall bear them food. 
In wiry prison they shall ne'er be tam'd, 

When they have reach'd maturity of age ; 
Like Philomel, too delicately fram'd, 

To brook the harsh confinement of the Cage, 

SONNET XXII. 

TO THE REDBREAST. 

When cold November winds began to blow, 

And yellow leaves were scatter'd o'er the plain, 
Thou didst forebode, sweet Bird, the Winter's snow, 

And usher in its storms with melancholy strains. 
Oft have I seen thee pick the scanty fare, 

From off the hillock where the Woodmen eat ; 
Oft have I seen thee, still more boldly dare, 

And snatch the insects at the ploughboy's feet. 
Remembrance cherishes the tale of woe, 
Which caus'd my Childhood's early tear to flow. 
When from the sky the blossom'd flakes descend, 

To thee the fragments of the board belong : 
Thus, thro' the Winter I will prove thy Friend, 

And thou, sweet bird, repay me with a song, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 47 

SONNET XXTII. 

TO A TRANSPLANTED TREE. 

In choicest mould, I plant thy branching root, 

With little curling ringlets overspread ; 
May showers descend, and cause thy buds to shoot ; 

May flowery honors bloom around thy head : 
When tempests gather in the freezing north, 
Or Eurus sends his furious legions forth, 
The loftiest Oak, upon the Mountain's brow, 

Pierc'd by the shock, a mighty wreck shall lie, 
Whilst thou, protected in the vale below, 

Shall 'scape the storm, and brave the angriest sky. 
From thee the Thrush the morning shall salute ; 

On thee, the Blackbird shall compose his wing ; 
Each feather'd songster shall partake thy fruit ; 

Build midst thy leaves, and from thy branches sing. 

SONNET XXIV. 

ON REVISITING BATH GRAMMAR SCHOOL, 

Whose Foundation was laid by my maternal Grandfather, during his Mayoralty. 

Ye well-known walls, which kindred hands did raise, 

To classic Learning, and Creator's praise, 

All hail ! Your dome I enter, to renew 

Feelings of youth, and former acts review. — 

A novel sorrow intercepts the heart, 

When, from his home, a child is doom'd to part. 

When I first enter'd this abode of fear, 

My Father clos'd his blessing, with a tear. 

Yonder I conn'd my task — there drove the ball, 

And watch'd it spring, rebounding from the wall. 

Allur'd like others by a love of fame, 

I carv'd yon cypher to transmit my name. 

Where are my fellows, since those days have sped ? 

Some shine in life, some moulder with the dead, 



48 THE shepherd's garland. 

SONNET XXV. 

ON REVISITING THE VILLAGE OF CHARLCOMBE, NEAR BATH, 
With an old School-fellow, in 1822. 

Swift, as the midnight watch, the hours have fled, 
Since hy our hlythe companions, hither led, 
We clomb the hill, or saunter'd in the dale, 
Or in the Churchyard, heard the Farmer's tale. 
Scenes of our youth, ye well demand our tears ; 
For mark the havock of revolving years. 
LevelPd the copse, in yon, once shaded, nook ; 
Despoil'd the Trees, that quiver'd o'er the brook ; 
Preceptor dead, who warm'd our early youth 
With decent ardour, in the cause of Truth ; 
Effac'd the motto that adorn'd his door ; 
The place which knew us once, knows us no more. 
We haste from mutilated scenes, to mourn 
Days that are past, and joys that mock return. 

SONNET XXVI. 

ON REVISITING THE VILLAGE OF SWAINSWICK, NEAR BATH. 

From Charlcombe's ravag'd vale, we pensive stray, 
Turn to the left, and pace the Alpine way ; 
The well-known Orchard pass, the brook, the bower, 
'Till Swainswick hails us with its gothic tower. 
Panting, as heretofore, I climb the steep ; 
Spring o'er the gulph, o'er which I led the leap ; 
Remark the trees, on which wild fruitage hung ; 
And whence I seiz'd the Turtles' half-fledg'd young ; 
Visit Preceptor's vault, whose lore and age 
Rivall'd the story of the Pylian sage. — 
Look down, blest Spirit, on thy Friends below, 
Who sojourn in this wilderness of woe ; 
Guard every path, o'er all their steps preside, 
In life their guardian, and in death their guide. 



49 



SONNET XXVII. 

WRITTEN ON REVISITING OXFORD. 

The Bell, from Merton's venerable Tower, 

(Calling each student to the house of prayer) 
To recollection brings the social hour, 

When, with a train of Friends, I worshipped there. 
What is become of each distinguished youth ? 

One ploughs the main, another storms the breach; 
Some with discretion propagate the Truth, 

And, by their lives, illustrate what they preach. 
Sometimes Remembrance will suffice to trace 

(Midst varied aspect which begins to blend 
Manhood with age) striking remains of grace, 

By which I claim an Academic Friend. 
Here once I recogniz'd, with pain and joy, 
A dead Friend's image, pictur'd in his boy. 

SONNET XXVIII. 

OCCASIONED BY A VISIT TO CORFE CASTLE DURING A 
HURRICANE. 

The gusts of wind, that bluster from the North, 
Shake the high battlements, and fractur'd towers ; 

Not without peril, have I ventur'd forth, 

Whilst in the Heavens the howling tempest lowers. 

O'er Ocean borne, the eddying whirlwind roars, 

Darts thro' the windows, rushes thro' the doors, 

As when in olden time (as hist'ries tell) 

Infuriate hordes beset the Citadel. 

The storm shall cease. The daw again shall dwell 

In batter'd angle, or in ivied cell, 

And the scar'd passenger again resort 

Thro' fenceless gateway to the inner Court, 

And guess the spot where the rein'd Courser stood, 
When Edward fell, and welter'd in his blood. 



50 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET XXIX. 

OCCASIONED BY VISITING THE SPOT ON THE CAERNAR- 
VONSHIRE COAST, FROM WHENCE THE ROMANS, AS 
DESCRIBED BY TACITUS, INVADED THE 
ISLAND OF ANGLESEA. 

Down Arvon's heights the Roman Legions pour, 
To rout the motley groupe on Mona's shore. 
Jn vain the Menai's interposing course 
Presents its perils to the hostile force. 
The waves are pass'd, and soon upon the Land 
Foes mingle face to face, and hand to hand. 
Women, like Furies, whirl their torches high ; 
Druids invoke the vengeance of the sky. 
Aw'd hy the scene aghast the Cohorts stood, 
And wish'd in heart to brave again the flood. 
"Romans advance (Suetonius cried aloud) 
And deal our vengeance on yon frantic crowd ; 
The Druids drag to their funereal fire, 
And guard them safely, whilst they slow expire/' 

SONNET XXX. 

ON ST. GOWEN's CHAPEL, IN THE COUNTY OF PEMBROKE. 

When Nature's wonders strike the ear, and eye, 

They aid our aspirations to the sky : 

Thro' the rapt soul Devotion's fervors run, 

And Nature ends the prayer, that Grace begun. 

The rocks, the ocean, and the balmy air 

Are here meet help-mates to the house of prayer. 

Nature and Grace combine their powers, to move 

Our low affections to Seraphic love. 

Fir'd by their union, lo ! the entranced Soul 

Breaks thro' the bonds of spherical control. 

Freed from the gloomy tenement of clay, 

It burns for freedom in eternal day. 

As if by whirlwinds from the body riven, 

It rends the sky, and penetrates to Heaven. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 5 1 

SONNET XXXI. 

TO THE MOON. 

I listen to the Sea-roar, and survey 

The Queen of Night succeed the Lord of Day. 

To Stars and Planets is the duty given 

To grace her progress thro* the vault of Heaven. 

The rolling spheres reiterate their song, 

And the clouds hrighten as they pass along. 

Lo ! on a sudden Vapours intervene, 

And Tempests rise to darken all the scene, 

But soon avenging Winds shall pierce the storm 

Which shrouds from view her lustre and her form ; 

Scatter the gloom and dissipate the rain, 

That we may view her radiance once again. 

Cliffs, as hefore, shall burst upon the sight, 

And Ocean toss its billows in the light. 

SONNET XXXII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF EVENING, AT PERTWOOD, WILTS. 

The Sun had sunk beneath the western Hill, 
Tinging the verge of sky with purple stain ; 
The Moon is rising, and the Winds are still, 
Both in the Valley, and the upland Plain. 
Releas'd from his retreat, the bird of night 
Skims o'er the ground, and now suspends his flight. 
From Chicklade's vale is heard the lowing steer ; 
The neighbouring sheep-bells tinkle on the ear ; 
The Ploughboy whistles, in half fearful mood ; 
The Curlew plains, disturb'd whilst seeking food ; 
The loosen'd Mastiff growls, and Watch-dogs bark, 
As wearied Pilgrims haste 'ere it is dark, 
To pass the angle of the lonely wood, 
Where Ruffians us'd to lurk for spoil and blood. 



52 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET XXXIII. 

TO AN OLD ELM TREE. 

It recreates the mind sometimes to stray 
To scenes of Childhood, and of early play ; 
But with intenser interest I rove 
Amidst the leafy honours of the Grove, 
Where, fir'd with love of learning in my Youth, 
I sought for knowledge, and enquir'd for Truth. 
Thou aged Tree, how often ! have I clomb 
Thy knotted hark, and sat thy boughs among ; 
Protected by thy thickly-matted shed, 
Unfelt the shower, or sunbeam o'er my head. 
There hours did pass delightfully away 
'Till twilight warned me of the closing day, 
Or till the Birds, by weariness opprest, 
Flutter'd around me to their native nest. 

SONNET XXXIV. 

ON A BROOK. 

Whilst Tourists listen to the Ocean's roar 
And watch the breakers play, or seagulls soar, 
Mine be the joy, with Pastoral Poets' crook, 
To pace the margin of the winding Brook, 
Which in expanse is seen, then hid in reeds, 
Then gleams, like silver, in the distant meads. 
The fields, appearing in their newest dress, 
And every flower, in fresher loveliness, 
Dispose the soul to meditation's dream, 
Which nought disturbs but ripple of the stream, 
Or springing Trout that circulates the flood, 
Or milk-maid's song, or melody of wood, 
Or some kind question from the Youthful Friend, 
Who loves on all my rambles to attend. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 53 

SONNET XXXV. 

ON REVISITING THE BROOK. 

Why fails this region to convey delight 

Which cheer'd the spirits once, and charm'd the sight ? 

Why does the Landscape sicken to the view, 

Past days recall, and buried griefs renew ? 

As heretofore the music-stirring breeze 

Is intercepted by the Alder trees. 

The stream still ripples, and its torrents swell 

O'er shoals and depths in the sequester'd dell. 

And the same Warblers in the sloping grove 

Prolong their notes of unmolested love. 

But brook or Grove a broken pleasure yields ; 

Dreary the hills, and desolate the fields, 

For he, who lov'd these scenes, has passM the bourne, 

From whence no Pilgrim ventures to return 

SONNET XXXVI. 

ON VISITING SHARPHAM PARK, THE ANCIENT RESIDENCE 

OF THE ABBOTS OF GLASTONBURY, IN THE 

AUTUMN OF 1826. 

See the last relicks of the antique Dome 

Where mitred Abbots sought a rural home 

From Township squabbles, and from civil storms, 

Or from the dull monotory of forms 

Which called, the Monks to fast, to chaunt and pray, 

From morn till night, from night till dawning day. 

The Antiquary traverses the ground 

With grief, to see the ruins spread around, 

And scrutinizes with his hand, and eye, 

The heaps of rubbish, as he passes by, 

And brings to open view the mouldering bone, 

And joins the fragments of the fractur'd stone 

To form the imag'd Infant, lulFd to rest, 

Upon the pillow of the Virgin's breast.- 



54 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET XXXVII. 

ON REVISITING SHARPHAM PARK. 

Of the old Palace, capt with holy rood, 

Soon will no vestige tell us where it stood, 

Save Sculpture, (borrow'd from the Abbots' hall) 

Which decks the neighbouring Mansion's outward wall, 

Mark'd with the bird, that bares her bleeding breast 

To hush the brood, that clamour from her nest. 

We view'd the ruins in congenial hour — 

The Tempest in the sky began to lower, 

And at short intervals the hollow breeze 

Shook from their branches the discolour'd leaves, 

And the last beam had glimmer'd in the west, 

And Nature seem'd in mourning vesture drest. 

Thus as we view'd the pile, and trac'd its plan, 

External Nature sympathiz'd with man. 

SONNET XXXVIII. 

TO THE RAVEN THAT BUILDS ITS NEST IN THE GROVE, 
IN LONGLEAT PARK. 

I never hear thy hoarse, discordant voice 

Astound the Grove, where piping notes rejoice, 

But Israel's Prophet to my fancy stands, 

Holding the boon, in his uplifted hands, 

Which plumed Messengers, in his distress, 

Convey'd thro' air safe to the Wilderness. 

Nor ever shall I hear thy croak again, 

But it will bring to mind the good man's strain, 

That children will, by birds of prey, be prest, 

Who mock their sires, and wound a Mother's breast. 

And how can I forget the filial prayer, 

Warn'd by thy supplication in the air, 

That food may to thy unfledg'd brood be given, 

Whose call, like thine, reverberates to Heaven. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 55 

SONNET XXXIX. 

OCCASIONED BY ATTENDANCE ON THE WELSH SERVICE 
SUNDAY AUGUST 1st, 1824. 

Far from the docile flock, which I have led 

For many years to Sion's holy hill, 

And which, when fainting, I have often fed 

In healthsome pasture, and by crystal rill, 

I spend the Sabbath. In an unknown tongue, 

If Priest and choir their prayers and psalms prolong, 

External signs religious truths convey, 

And speak a language, suited to the day. 

The Cairn, which rears its fragments to the sky, 

Repeats the lesson, that we all must die ; 

Whilst the spent River, mingling with the Sea, 

Interprets death, engulph'd in Victory. 

Where'er I roam, oh ! may my heart be given, 

On this blest day, to muse on rest in Heaven. 

SONNET XL. 

ON THE SEA-COAST. 

I left the crowd behind, and soon did reach 

The glittering sand-bank, and the pebbled beach. 

The Smuggler from the well-known promontory 

Kindles his fagot for his friends at sea, 

And warns their vessel from the treacherous bay 

Where foemen threaten, or where Friends betray. 

I hear the billowy undulation roar 

As the tide flows and presses to the shore : 

Wave, after wave, comes rippling at my feet 

And retrogades into as quick retreat. 

Boats, of frail structure, o'er the waters glide, 

Whose oars scarce discompose the passing tide, 

Whilst flocks of curlews to the sands repair, 

And fearless seagulls hover in the air. 



56 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND, 



SONNET XLI. 

ON THE BEACH. 

In Summer-morn I to the Coast repair, 

To watch the seagulls frolick in the air, 

Or, free from danger, float upon the deep, 

While drowsier mortals lie ahsorb'd in sleep. 

I often traverse the delightful sands 

To think on Friends, who dwell in foreign lands, 

From whom I parted, lingering on the shore, 

'Till their hark vanished to he seen no more. 

I never see a Vessel plough her way, 

But muse on Him, whom winds and waves obey ; 

Who chides the elements with " Peace," be still " 

And the Sea ripples, like a shallow rill. 

To scenes, like these, the skill and power belong, 

To form the Poet, and inspire his song. 

To scenes, like these, the faculty is given 

To lift the grov'ling mind of man to Heaven. 

SONNET XLII. 

ON AN EMBARKATION. 

The Canvass swells, and flutters in the wind. 
Females, unwilling to be left behind, 
Press in close numbers to the pier or shore, 
To claim their spouses, or their loss deplore. 
The lots are cast, whose fortune it should prove 
To share in foreign climes their Soldiers' love. 
When Susan's fate was sounded, u not to go;" 
She senseless fell, as levell'd with a blow. 
At length she cried, " O Sandy will you part 
From this sweet boy, and from this breaking heart V 
She seiz'd her Husband's hands to clasp their boy, 
Pledge of their love, and fountain of their joy. 
The bugle sounds — the word " to sail," is given ; 
" Sandy, farewell, 'till we do meet in Heaven." 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 57 

SONNET XLIII. 

ON SETTING SAIL. 

The sails were hoisted in the morning hour 
When radiance gleam'd upon the Castle tower, 
Whilst the surrounding houndary was seen, 
Feather'd with woodlands, and with pasture, green. 
The Bark begins to plough her watery way, 
Fann'd by the freshness of the early day ; 
As Trees and houses lessen to the view, 
All hands are wav'd to hint a last adieu. 
The bosom's grief is audible in sighs, 
And visible in tears that dim the eyes. 
The deep, below, above, the argent fields 
(The grandest spectacles that Nature yields) 
Absorb the soul, and all its thoughts employ, 
Ry raising terror, and exciting joy 

SONNET XLIV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF RUINS NEAR THE COAST, 

The castellated Pile in ruins lies, 

Save where the Turret penetrates the skies, 

Whose fissures yield to birds and beasts retreat, 

As they spring high, or yawn beneath the feet. 

The windings of the glen conceal from view 

The Abbey's ruins, and the scathed yew, 

But thro' the withering foliage gleams the flood 

Upon whose marge the sacred structure stood. 

The clang of arms once echoed from the walls. 

In vaulted Temple, and in banner'd halls, 

Matins were chaunted, and the festive song ; 

But now the voy'ger, as he glides along, 

Can only hear the dashing of the oar, 

And the hoarse surge that ripples to the shore. 



58 THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 

SONNET XLV. 

ON AN INCIPIENT VOYAGE. 

Tears had reliev'd the anguish of the mind 
For the dear Friends, whom we had left behind, 
And livelier feelings stole upon the soul, 
To nourish hope, and fears of death controul, 
As in mid air the storm began to lower ; 
When in that awful and sequester'd hour, 
Such thrilling strains were warbled thro' the air, 
As Seraphim rehearse, when they repair 
To cheer the Christian on his dying bed, 
Or chaunt their requiems o'er the pious dead. 
Again we weep, but these were joyous tears 
Which Nature sanctions, and which Love endears. 
Borne by a breeze, once more we caught the sound ; 
Alas ! it perish'd, 'ere we look'd around. 

SONNET XLVI. 

ON SUNSET, AT SEA. 

The purple Clouds, that mark the setting Sun, 
Heighten the azure of the upper sky, 
But 'ere his unimpeded race is run, 
More varied tints combine in harmony. 
Increasing gloom the atmosphere enshrouds ; 
Faint streaks of light desert the western clouds ; 
O'er all the East, a gathering gloom is spread, 
As vapours spring to birth from Ocean's bed. 
Breathless the air ; the canvass of the bark 
Was motionless, and 'ere the Heavens were dark, 
The Evening Star shone forth with brilliancy, 
And by reflection sparkled in the sea. 
And then the Moon uprear'd her stately form, 
Veil'd with a cloud, and mantled for the storm. 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 

SONNET XLVII. 

ON SUN RISE AT SEA. 

The quivering Rays burst thro' the mists of night, 

And tinge the atmosphere with purple light. 

The Moon glides gently from the Ocean's breast ; 

The Sunbeams start from their nocturnal rest, 

And dart their radiance up the bright'ning skies, 

And Ocean glows with variegated dies. 

As day advances, sails appear to view, 

And flocks of Gulls their airy course pursue, 

Whilst Cormorants utter their discordant note, 

Dive in the sea, or on its waters float. 

The Porpoise frolicks thro' his watery realm : 

The Pilot sings, whilst leaning on the helm. 

At length the Sun springs up above the sea, 

Beaming from clouds of golden canopy. 

SONNET XLVHI. 

ON A CALM. 

No billows roar, no eddying whirlwind raves ; 

No sound is heard, but ripple of the waves 

Which breaks in foam upon the rocky shore, 

And then retires, and is heard no more. 

I pause, and listen to the measur'd sounds, 

And muse on Him, who set the Ocean bounds, 

" Here are the lines of demancation laid ; 

Here mayst thou come, but here thy waves are staid. 

Now I discern, amid' the watery way, 

The light bark steering for the western bay ; 

The sails are lowered, as the skiff draws nigh ; 

The Sea-birds seek the Cliffs, and quit the sky ; 

The gathering clouds the atmosphere deform, 

And watery sunbeams indicate a storm. 



60 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET XLIX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF A HURRICANE. 

The Storm, confined within the western bay, 
Growl'd, roar'd, and foam'd, like unto beasts of prey, 
Prisoned in dens. To neighbouring heights repair 
The Villagers, and view, mingling with air, 
The billowy surge ; then to the beach resort. 
Some pray the Vessel may arrive in port, 
While some, unpitying, watch the crouded deck 
And dream of plunder, heedless of the wreck : 
The reeling Barks before the storm are driven, 
While on the crew pours all the wrath of Heaven. 
In vain thro' Manby's skill the Victims crave 
A prompt deliverance from a watery Grave. 
They all exclaim, o'er power'd by the wind, 
" Ye elements I call not you unkind." 

SONNET L. 

ON A STORM. 

The dusky clouds, that flit along the sky, 

Portend to Pilots that a storm is nigh, 

Whilst flocks of sea-mews, screaming o'er the brine, 

Serve to confirm the melancholy sign. 

At length the torrent pours, the whirlwinds rise ; 

The lightnings flash, the thunder rends the skies. 

Fear now suggests, no Pilot's power can save 

The Victims, destined to a watery grave. 

The Ship descends amidst the Ocean's caves ; 

A gain she buoyant springs upon the waves : 

Her Yards and bowsprit plunge into the main ; 

Her balance almost lost, she rights again. 

The crew resort, in this uncertain hour, 

To higher aid, than sublunary power. 



THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 61 

SONNET LI. 

ON A STORM. 

The frighten'd sea-gulls into ether soar ; 
The Thunder bellows with continuous roar. 
Some Lightnings flare a moment, then expire ; 
Others appear a wide-spread sheet of fire. 
The Sea is foam, whilst rising mountains high; 
The spray and clouds are mingled in the sky. 
Rous'd by the agitation, lo ! the dead 
Spring into mimic life from Ocean's bed, 
And seem in conflict with the whelming wave, 
And sink again, as tho' we spurn'd to save. 
At length the Sea resumes its state of rest, 
Like the hush'd infant on the Mother's breast. 
With the still'd storm subsided all my fears, 
And my thanksgiving was a flood of tears. 

SONNET LII. 

ON A MIDNIGHT STORM. 

Again alarm'd by omens of a wreck 

"We quit our rest, and crowd upon the deck. 

The ponderous hail-stones rattle from on high ; 

The moon and stars are shrouded in the sky, 

Whilst thro' the storm the fiery meteors play, 

And interpose a light, resembling day. 

O'er the dense clouds at length the moon prevails, 

Lights up the sea, and gleams upon the sails ; 

The Sailors hail tranquillity restor'd, 

And kneel in thankfulness to that kind Lord, 

Who governs Nature with a sovereign sway ; 

Whose high behest the winds and waves obey — 

Then muse of kindred, on their native shores, 

Who dream of shipwrecks, when the tempest roars. 



62 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET Mil. 

ON A TEMPEST. 

The demon of the storm brings on the night ; 
The Ocean swells with most tremendous roar ; 
Corses and wrecks affect the heart and sight, 
Borne by the surge and breakers to the shore. 
What human eye-lid could be clos'd to sleep, 
As blast answer'd blast, and deep call'd to deep. 
Clouds, which portend an instantaneous doom, 
Are pierc'd by flashes of sulphureous glare, 
Darkness succeeds with more appalling gloom, 
As Lightnings vanish which had lit the air. 
The Thunder bellows thro' the abyss profound, 
And Ocean's Mountains echo back the sound ; 
The vessel reels — the crew crowd round the helm, 
Which billows reach, and threat to overwhelm. 

SONNET LIV. 

ON A SHIPWRECK. 

When Stars were shrouded and the Heavens were dark, 

(Portentous omens to a floundering bark) 

The startled watch exclaimed, " a sail a-head ;" 

The ship at anchor, and the crew in bed. 

Why on her bow no hospitable light 

To warn from obvious perils of the night ? 

Against her side our hurried vessel bore 

With mighty shock ; she sunk to rise no more. 

We saw the naked crew, arous'd from sleep, 

Struggle in vain with the remorseless deep. 

Their dying groans were mingled with the wind, 

Which drove us on, and left them far behind. 

They sink engulpb/d in the subsiding wave, 

No arm to rescue, and no plank to save. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 63 

SONNET LV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF FOREIGN SCENERY AND MANNERS. 

Around my view unequal hills are seen, 

Clad to their summits with their robes of green, 

And 'mid surrounding elms the tendrils twine, 

And clusters glitter of the purple vine. 

In wide circumference the Hamlet lies, 

With spire which points directly to the skies. 

There Children mingle in their varied play, 

On Vintage feast, or stated Holiday, 

And Youths and Maids the passing hours forget, 

Cheer'd with the song, the dance, and flageolet. 

Amongst the crowd, obstreperous joys abound, 

But distance seems to solemnize the sound, 

And lends to noisy ecstacy relief, 

By modulating mirth to tones of grief. 

SONNET LVI. 

TO A FOREIGN COTTAGE, 

Hail, modest Mansion, shelter'd by a brake, 

And grac'd with lawn that slopes unto a lake, 

Whose chrystal waters fill the marge, and lave 

The willow-trees, that o'er its surface wave. 

Fair Adelaide presided o'er its bowers, 

Propp'd the young plants, and nurs'd its herbs and flowers. 

Fenc'd them from winds that gather'd on the hill, 

And gave them moisture from the chrystal rill, 

That gushes from the rock. She rose to view 

Her fav'rite flowret, bright with morning dew. 

She seiz'd her ready instrument, which gave 

A kind of incantation to the wave, 

And the vibrations of her voice impart 

Such tones as designate a feeling heart. 



64 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET LVII. 

ON A DILAPIDATED CASTLE. 

Upon a prominence of rock and Land, 
Fenc'd by a Lake, the frowning ruins stand. 
Turret and Bastion stretch along the shore, 
And call to mind the warlike days of yore, 
When crowded Vassals, faithful to their words, 
Obey'd the mandate of their feudal lords. 
Thro' the arch'd fractures of the riven wall, 
We catch a glimpse of Chapel and of Hall, 
Whence issued sounds of modulated prayer, 
And fierce carousals rent the midnight air. 
Observe the aspen tree, whereon the Crow 
Sits croaking oft. The quivering branches grow 
Luxuriant, and their thickening foliage spread 
Over the sod, which shrouds the Traitor's head. 

SONNET LVIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF A LAKE. 

Subsiding vapours cause the Fount to flow 

Which fills the vale, and forms the Lake below. 

The Alder, Birch, and weeping willow trees 

Spring from its banks, and quiver in the breeze. 

The eddying waters, and the Solar ray 

Curl 'midst their roots, and thro' their foliage play. 

To Fancy's eye, the Dryads haunt the wood 

That borders on the margin of the flood ; 

And Naiads sport, when storms arouse the deep, 

And guard its Caverns, when the waters sleep. 

The hoary mists arise ; the last rays drop 

A golden radiance on the Mountain top, 

And down its side, and on the torrent's stream, 

And gild the vapours with a parting beam. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 65 

SONNET LTX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF EVENING. 

The Sky was tranquil, and the air was still, 
And scarce was heard the current of the rill. 
No Zephyr thro' the atmosphere would blow, 
To wake the leaves, or stir the lake below. 
Nature seem'd hush'd, in more intense repose, 
As the full Moon, in majesty, arose. 
With rapture Adeline survey'd the scene, 
And watch'd the Lunar brightness intervene, 
And part the clouds. The Lake began to glow 
With silver tints, and with their heads of snow, 
The distant Alps. A vessel hove in sight, 
And bugles added interest to the night. 
She heard their warblings, 'till the vessel wore : 
Their tones subsided, and were heard no more. 

SONNET LX. 

ON MUSIC. 

As on the margin of the Lake I stood, 
To watch the willows tremble o'er the flood, 
Unearthly Music swell'd upon the wind, 
Which warm'd my fancy, and arous'd my mind. 
Its tones came softened o'er the rippling wave ; 
More softened still, re-echoed from the cave. 
In modulations they were heard to flow, 
Until they slumber'd on the rocks below. 
The Music now seem'd distant in the sky ; 
And then it rush'd impetuously by. 
Again to silence it would die away ; 
Then rise in air, then o'er the waters play. 
Its tones gave rise to mingled hopes and fears — 
My heart was touch'd, and found relief in tears. 

p 



66 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET LXI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF A FESTIVAL. 

Advancing on the borders of the Lake, 
Assembled groupes announc'd a Village wake. 
The lads and lasses, well arrang'd, were seen, 
Dancing to tabor, pipe, and Tambourine. 
Matrons and Grandsires shar'd the revelry 
With inward mirth, and smiling gravity, 
Not yet forgetful, that these scenes among, 
Themselves had frolick'd in the dance and song, 
And that their hearts were plighted on the sands, 
'Ere at the altar Hymen join'd their hands. 
The Music ceases, and the dance, at last ; 
The groupes assemble to a short repast, 
And when the San lit up the Mountain's crest, 
They sing in concert, and retire, for rest. 

SONNET LXII. 

ON CLIMBING A ROCKY EMINENCE. 

We quit the Lake, and wind the steep ascent 
And mark the pinnacles, and battlement 
Of Nature's workmanship. At length we gain 
The upper region, with its cultur'd plain. 
Amidst the wilderness the waving corn 
Breaks on the sight, like blossom on the thorn. 
On the lone height o'er canopied by sky, 
We catch the bursts of woodland melody, 
Heard from the vale. We view the distant Main 
In tranquil majesty. Here might the Swain 
Indulge the sensibilities of love, 
And Hermits speculate on joys above, 
And aged Sires recall their youthful prime, 
Soften'd by distance, and endeared by time. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 67 

SONNET LX1II. 

ON THE PROFESSION OF A NUN. 

In duteous homage to her Sire's command, 

See the mute Maid before the altar stand : 

View the black pall around her shoulders spread, 

Whilst Virgins chaunt the requiem for the dead ; 

And as the Funeral Bell begins to toll, 

Tears dim the eyes, and pity melts the soul. 

To qualify for her divine retreat, 

The Novice bends at her Confessor's feet ; 

She kens the robes in which she lately drest, 

Whilst Nuns array her in monastic vest, 

And bind her Temples with a linen band, 

And place a Crucifix in either hand. 

She kneels again — her vow is seal'd in Heaven, 

She prays, her Father's sin may be forgiven. 

SONNET LXIV. 

TO ADELINE. 

I saw thee dancing in the prime of Youth ; 
Thy love was virtue, and thy vow was Truth. 
Then such expression to thy looks was given, 
As seem'd an emanation sent from Heaven. 
The dark brown tresses on thy shoulders hung, 
And modulation dwelt upon thy tongue, 
Which lov'd the anthem's cadence to prolong, 
Sweet and prophetic, as the cygnet's song. 
But now thy brow, with gloom is overcast ; 
Thy lover died, and all thy joy is past. 
Ah ! thou dost fly our mirth, and spurn relief, 
Bosom thy pangs, and treasure up thy grief, 
Just as a dove, when stricken with a dart, 
Clasps both her wings to hide her bleeding heart, 



68 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET LXV. 

on Adeline's urn. 

If thine eyes, Pilgrim, be to beauty blind ; 

If Virgin's sorrow, (who was left behind 

To mourn the Lover, snatch'd to bliss above, 

With whom her faith was stak'd, and pledg'd her love) 

Excite no pity, draw not near the urn 

Which Angels visit, and where Lovers mourn. — 

To hold communion with the virtuous dead, 

And visit often their sepulchral bed, 

Will raise our views beyond this scene of strife, 

And aid our fitness for the other life, 

Where Friends will meet, and Saints their kindred own ; 

Where we shall know, as we ourselves are known ; 

Where with the Seraphs we shall ever dwell, 

And see His face, that is invisible. 

SONNET LXVI. 

ON THE HOPE OF IMMORTALITY. 

Children of sorrow, Partners in distress ! 

Go view the Urn, in yonder wilderness, 

Rear'd to a Virgin's destiny, to prove 

A small memorial of a Mother's love. 

Bright is the prospect, to which Hope gives birth, 

That we shall join the Friends, we lost on Earth ; 

Our passions purified, our thoughts refined ; 

Enlarg'd the sphere, and faculties, of mind, 

God's love and attributes to comprehend, 

And taste of life that ne'er will know an end. 

Then cherish Hope, which will convey, at length, 

To virtue energy, to weakness strength, 

And guided Heaven-ward, fails not to impart 

Light to the Soul, and purity of heart, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 69 

SONNET LXVII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF APPROACH TO THE ALPS. 

The Ridge illumin'd by the solar ray, 

Broke on the view, and brighten'd with the day. 

Its bulky precipice by thunder riven, 

Seem'd to divide, to prop the vault of Heaven. 

A scene, so vast, magnificent and new, 

As on we pac'd, our mark'd attention drew. 

Is the Sun dim ? Then all its beauties fade, 

And vanish in impenetrable shade. 

The winding road a different view presents 

Of rampart Walls, and giant battlements, 

Which overhang the path, and in a mass, 

Threaten to crush the pilgrims as they pass. 

Silence was only broken by the flocks 

Of ravenous birds, which nestled in the rocks. 

SONNET LXVIII. 

ON THE ALPINE EAGLE. 

The full-crainin'd Eagle, in her craggy seat, 

Dozes awhile, and shrouds her gory feet. 

Rous'd by the rising gale, she lifts her breast, 

Ruffles her plumage, and resumes her rest. 

The sire his aerie guards, 'till setting Sun, 

Safe from the Shepherd's traps, and Sportsman's gun. 

The eaglets, gorg'd with flesh of fowl and fawn, 

Suspend their cries 'till the next Morning's dawn. 

The heath-cock struts, and crows without alarm ; 

Roes quit the thicket without dread of harm ; 

The Rabbit leaves his lurking place of rest ; 

The Ptarmigans forsake their snowy nest, 

And Leverets frolick from their dark retreat, 

And fearless grouse resign their bed of peat. 



70 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET LXIX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

The Pilgrims mount the Alps at break of day, 
And thro* untravers'd scenes, astonisb/d stray. 
Here the rock threatens, or the cave beguiles ; 
There verdure glows, and cultivation smiles. 
Near to the clift, o'er which the tempest lowers^ 
Are habitations seen, and Convent Towers. 
The vineyard blushes in a safe retreat, 
Inclosed by rocks which spring beneath their feet. 
Its tendrils cling around the blocks below, 
Which on each other mount, 'till capt with snow. 
Ample in bulk the piles united rise, 
'Till lost to view they mingle with the skies, 
From whence is felt th' invigorating gale, 
And whence the Cataract thunders to the vale. 

SONNET LXX. 

ON THE ALPINE EAGLE. 

The Eagle quits the sphere of burning light, 

(On which she look'd with her undazzled sight,) 

And downward wings her flight to visit earth, 

And claim the eyry where she drew her birth, 

And where for full a century, her brood * 

Have felt her warmth, and clamour'd for their food. 

She whets her beak upon the flinty rock, 

When, in mid air, she kens a numerous flock 

Of wild fowl, hast'ning with the hope to feed 

In the near Lake ; which, lo ! with lightnings speed, 

She overtakes, and singles out her prey, 

And in her talons bears it fast away ; 

She then returns, and overlooks the Lake, 

To pounce on fowl again, or trailing snake. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 71 

SONNET LXXI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

Emerging from each labyrinth of wood, 
Barefoot and shy, a groupe of children stood : 
With mingled fear, and wonderment they scan 
The dress and figure of the alien man, 
And seem astonish/d, that he should intrude 
Without protection, in their solitude. 
But when the lagging loiterers came in view, 
They felt alarm, and instantly withdrew. 
The village smoke arrests the Pilgrims' sight, 
Now as the Sea absorbs the solar light. 
They claim protection from the rising blast ; 
They ask a lodging, and a short repast, 
Nor ask in vain — the rugged board is spread 
With bowls of goat's milk, oaten cake, and bread. 

SONNET LXXII. 

ON THE ALPINE EAGLE. 

Scarce had the Fawn forsook its Mother's side, 

Rambling, thro' meadows, with incautious pride, 

Than lo ! a rustling noise assailed its ears, 

And quick an Eagle fill'd its eyes with tears ; 

As her clench'd talons bore it thro' the sky, 

More firm her grasp, as louder grew its cry. 

Alighting safely on a rock, her yell 

Flew thro' the air, and echoed thro' the dell. 

See ! whilst she mutilates its writhing head, 

Her neck-plumes bristle, and her wings are spread ; 

Her eyes dart fire, and heedless of the smart, 

Her forked talons penetrate the heart. 

The victim sinks into unconscious rest, 

And crowds the platform of the Eagle's nest. 



72 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET LXX1II. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

The Alpine heights (on which the Evening cloud 
Had dropp'd its temporary mists, to shroud 
Their pinnacles) ohscurely met the eye, 
Contrasted with the deep coerulean sky 
Which struggles with the darkness, to unfold 
Its canopy of crimson, mix'd with gold. 
What skill shall draw the varied tints that glow 
Upon the hills, and vales that crowd below ? 
Or sketch the fogs that hover o'er the lake, 
And then the valley and the hill forsake ? 
Or trace the roseate colours make their way 
Thro' brightening skies, the harbingers of day ? 
Or paint the purifying beams that clear 
The atmosphere, and prove the Sun is near ? 

SONNET LXXIV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

Across the gulph a rough-hewn arch is flung ; 
Under its curve the Swallow feeds her young. 
Scoop'd in the upper clift, behold the cell, 
Where Hermits lov'd to meditate, and dwell. 
Now ken the Dome, with mutilated Cross, 
Cover'd with rushes, overspread with moss, 
Where the old men, before the dawn of day, 
And at its close, retir'd to weep, and pray. 
Thro' shatter'd lattice, and the fractur'd door, 
The crucifix is seen upon the floor ; 
The metal lamp is wearing out with rust ; 
And beads and relics mingle with the dust. 
The oblong mound, which the rough stones inclose, 
Describes the spot where Cuthbert's bones repose, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 73 

SONNET LXXV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

The Pilgrims' footsteps pierc'd the Forest gloom 

Of pine and fir-tree, (mix'd with fern and broom) 

Whose lower branches, bald for want of air, 

Scarce shelter'd wild-beasts in their bare-worn lair. 

These matted woods, ne'er pierc'd by morning dawn, 

Now open'd to an avenue of Lawn, 

O'er which the Roe-buck graceful] y rebounds, 

When he has foil'd the Huntsman, and his Hounds. 

Perch'd on a crag, a Cottage burst to view, 

(Whose sides were hazel, and whose roof was yew) 

O'ershadow'd by an hospitable oak, 

Whose leaves were ting'd by culinary smoke, 

E'er since the Hunters, sport and peril past, 

Dress'd, from their spoils in chase, their night's repast. 

SONNET LXXVI. 

ON THE OLD EAGLE. 

See on the rock, that overlooks the deep, 
The Eagle's eye is clos'd in sickening sleep ; 
But sometimes thro' the tediousness of day, 
From crag to crag she flaps her weary way. 
Her feverish thirst, and scarcity of food, 
(Which us'd to make her fiercer to spill blood) 
Abate her ardour, and as she descries 
Flock after flock of wild-fowl in the skies, 
She feels her powers unequal to pursue, 
And shuts her eyes to veil them from her view. 
Now she forsakes the regions of the snow, 
And seeks a shelter on the rocks below ; 
At length the sportsmens' levell'd tubes resound, 
And down she falls, and flutters on the ground, 



74 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET LXXVII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OP ALPINE SCENERY. 

The forest gloom increases, and the breeze 
Mutters its soft vibrations thro' the Trees. 
Vultures and Eagles tower above the rock, 
Whose varied screams the echoing caverns mock. 
Under the Larch, the Shepherd takes his meal, 
In audience of the fount, which shrubs conceal ; 
While, in the smiling vale his Lambkins play, 
His Dog is watchful, lest the flock should stray. 
These scenes and sounds mix'd joy and grief impart, 
Feelings congenial to the human heart. 
The Travellers, whom the kindliest passions move, 
Feel for their absent Friends, a warmer love. 
The recollection cheers the mental sight, 
Like distant music in a tranquil night. 

SONNET LXXVIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

Our Pilgrims reach the regions of the snow, 
And mark the billowy clouds that float below, 
Which sometimes indistinctly close the scene, 
And sometimes part for light to intervene. 
But who, their satisfaction, shall declare, 
When having pass'd the vapours of the air, 
From some stupendous precipice they see 
Piedmont's green vale, and plains of Lombardy. 
The solitary grandeur of the Hills ; 
The Torrents' roar, and gush of numerous Rills ; 
The fleecy mists seen mantling in the sky ; 
The sheets of ice, that in disorder lie, 
Add grandeur to the elegant retreat 
Which lies below, and courts the Pilgrims' feet. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 75 

SONNET LXXIX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

Amidst the clouds its Cross the Convent rears, 
Batter'd by Tempests, and grown grey with years, 
St. Bernard's gift. The lagging Travellers spy 
Its tapers glimmer thro' the darkened sky, 
And hear, amidst the whirlwind's roar, its bells 
Summon the monks to vespers from their cells. 
The Pilgrims ring, and lo ! the unbarr'd door, 
Which shields the rich, and never fails the poor, 
Redeems them from the inhospitable soil ; 
Gives light for gloom, and quietude for toil. 
With their train'd dogs the Friars search below, 
For glacier, avalanche, or drifted snow, 
And when they rescue passengers distrest, 
They bear them off, for nourishment and rest. 

SONNET LXXX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

The Travellers now the Mountain pass survey 
Thro' which the Carthaginian led the way, 
To wreak his vengeance on imperious Rome, 
Lower its pride, and seal its final doom. 
Their Fancy painted, and conjecture view'd 
The march, which his brave Countrymen pursu'd. 
The nodding plumes upon their brow descend ; 
The Soldiers underneath their burthens bend ; 
The fires, which o'er the Mountain threw a light, 
To cheer the gloom, and aid the pomp of night, 
Imagination paints. The Pilgrims stand, 
Where Punic Chieftains pointed out the land, 
Where their tir'd Comrades should retire from toil, 
Rout every foe, and triumph o'er their spoil. 



76 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET LXXXI. 

ON DESCENT FROM THE ALPS. 

From highest Altitudes, the men survey 
The varied prospects of their downward way, 
When a rich Valley opened to their view, 
Which their hearts long for, and their eyes pursue ; 
Courting the Sun, but shelter'd from the gale, 
It seem'd a vision of a Fairy tale. 
No sounds were heard in the sequester'd nook, 
But the fresh joyance of the bubbling brook ; 
Or the soft whisperings of primeval trees, 
FannM by the morning, and the evening breeze ; 
Or childhood's laughter, where the Cottage stood, 
Fenc'd by the rock, and water'd by the flood. 
If Peace and Virtue fly the haunts of men, 
They find a refuge in the Mountain glen. 

SONNET LXXXII. 

ON APPROACHING THE APENNINES. 

The breezes scare the clouds, and the Sun shines 
To gild the summit of the Apennines. 
Over the road the beetling cavern hung — 
Across the path uprooted pines were flung. 
Terrific feelings deepen'd every shade, 
And Silence reign'd in every opening glade, 
Save when the wind a transient rumbling made, 
Or waters gush'd from fountain, or cascade. 
The Pilgrims pass a hut, like Hermits cell, 
Where the rough Hind, and wife and children dwell. 
His herds of kine, and flocks of goats and sheep 
Browse thro' the vale, or climb the craggy steep. 
Our hearts are lighten'd, and our tongues confess 
The scene an Eden in the Wilderness. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 77 

SONNET LXXXIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF SCENES AT THE FOOT OF THE 
APENNINES. 

The Pilgrims search'd the most sequester'd dell 
And found a Hermit musing in his cell, 
Who told his tale (but ere he spake, he sigh'd) 
That in his Youth his widow'd mother died, 
And left him to the mercy of the fields, 
Her legacy the stores that Nature yields, 
Of berries, and wild fruits. The crystal rill 
Appeas'd his thirst, that trickled down the hill. 
He wreath'd the gadding woodbines for his head ; 
Of twisted boughs he form'd his scanty shed. 
He hail'd the Sun, which lent him heat and light, 
And by reflection cheer'd the gloom of night. 
But of the Sun of Righteousness he sings, 
Who rose with balm, and healing on His wings. 

SONNET LXXXIV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

The Dawn now trembled, as retir'd the night, 

And touch'd the Mountain's peak with streaks of light. 

The rays, incipient yet, refus'd to glow 

Upon its breast ; dark was the vale below. 

Soon o'er the East a purple blush was spread, 

Which ripen'd by degrees to tints of red. 

The fields of ether grew divinely fair, 

As glittering radiance frolick'd thro* the air 

And o'er the mountain, and as sloping beams 

Gained on the vallies and the winding streams. 

Nature, reviv'd by her nocturnal rest, 

Smil'd, like a Maid, in bridal vesture drest. 

The Lark in air, the thrush the brakes among, 

Waken' d the echoes with a nuptial song. 



78 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET LXXXV. 

ON ASCENDING THE APENNINES. 

The scene assumes variety of forms, 

As the sky beams with light, or frowns with storms. 

Tremendous crags uprear their giant heads, 

Over whose surface vegetation spreads 

No verdure, but a solitary oak, - 

Which long has brav'd the blast, and lightening's stroke, 

Springs thro* a chasm into open day, 

Moistened by clouds, and by the cataract's spray. 

The moaning winds, that scud across the sky, 

Portend disaster, or a tempest nigh. 

At length the Storm, surcharg'd with sncw and sleet, 

Obscures our vision, and impedes our feet. 

Fantastic castles tower in the air, 

Mock us with hope, and leave us to despair. 

SONNET LXXXVI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

Upon the height we linger'd, 'till the Sun 
Had his diurnal destination run. 
We saw it gladden, with its parting smiles, 
First the blue Mountain, then the distant isles ; 
It shed its radiance on the Ocean's caves, 
And sunk to rest upon its couch of waves ; 
Then did the Moon, fair Regent of the night, 
Spread o'er the dusky Earth her borrow'd light, 
And as the silvan Choristers were mute, 
Our voices warbled vespers with the lute. 
Our eyes were lifted to the Heavens above, 
Then on each other beam'd with looks of love. 
The solemn scenes, and sounds that float in air, 
Affect the Soul, and harmonize with prayer. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 79 

SONNET LXXXVII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

Amidst these rugged wilds Ellena strove 
To charm, or hide, her disappointed love. 
Hither she hasten'd with the rising Sun, 
Nor thought of home, until his race was run. 
Her auhurn tresses, free and unconfinM, 
Play'd round her hreast, or frolick'd in the wind. 
Her eyes, that us'd with sentiment to glow, 
Are dimm'd with sorrow, or with tears o'erflow. 
Her pallid face assumes a settled gloom, 
But gains in pity, what it lost in bloom. 
Sometimes a tint, which blush'd but to beguile, 
Would light her cheeks, and then a transient smile 
Would play around her brow : now both are gone, 
Like solar beams from alabaster stone. 

SONNET LXXXVIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

I heard the lovely Wanderer begin 

To play her lute, and chaunt the Virgin's hymn. 

The woods, with sweetly plaintive warblings rung, 

And Angels seem'd to listen when she sung. 

Before her rural fane I saw her bow 

In duteous homage, and confirm the vow 

She made in sorrow, that her heart was given 

Chaste and devoted, to her spouse in Heaven. 

I saw her from her kneeling posture rise, 

And with emotion glance upon the skies ; 

I watch'd her close, and clasp the holy book, 

Whilst love seraphic beam'd in every look. 

She smiFd, as tho' her griefs were laid to rest ; 

And heavenly sunshine beam'd within her breast. 



80 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET LXXXIX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

Fain in this upper region would I dwell, 

To watch the tempest rise, and Ocean swell, 

And mark the cliff, by former earthquakes riven, 

Or by the dread artillery of Heaven, 

When clouds, surcharg'd with sulphur, burst in air, 

And Convents, only stood, thro' bells and prayer. 

Here would I dwell, and mark the Rainbow sweep, 

With stride majestical, across the deep, 

Oft', as the evanescent glories reach 

From distant surges, to the neighb'ring beach 

On which its arch reposes, and where meet 

Its blended tints that glow beneath my feet. 

Fancy scarce credits, that the radiant form 

Which spans the sky, is herald of the Storm. 

SONNET XC. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

Nature was wrapt in silent gloom — at last 
The winds are stirring, and arouse the blast. 
With fiery eye-balls, and dishevellM mane, 
The steed, bewilder'd, scampers o'er the plain. 
Herds, stung with gad-flies, madden into flight ; 
Goats fly the rocks, and on the ground alight. 
The blackbirds cease their joy, the larks descend : 
The foliage rustles, and the branches bend. 
Rumblings are heard, the veteran Oak is riven, 
Pierc'd by the meteor, which had blaz'd from Heaven ; 
Thro' bursting clouds successive lightnings fly ; 
The rain is pour'd in fountains from the sky, 
And the dark cavern where the Travellers stood, 
Glares with the flash, and ripples with the flood. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 8 1 

SOXXET XCI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

I saw the Sire, of venerable look, 

Beckon for worship, and unclasp his book. 

As he knelt down, he bow'd, then rais'd, his head ; 

His silver locks were o'er his shoulders spread. 

The incense offer'd and the blessing past, 

The Children first stand up, the old man, last ; 

For he will never from his knees arise, 

'Till Heaven has blest his Evening Sacrifice. 

Now to each member parts assign'd are given, 

To chaunt the hymn, that makes its way to Heaven. 

During the pouring forth of praise and prayer, 

Unearthly strains are warbled thro' the air, 

Which seem to issue from the stars, or sky, 

To mingle with celestial harmony. 

SONNET XCII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

Lit by the new-born beam, the Mountains glow 

In livery clad of icicles and snow. 

The Travellers pause, and then their course pursue 

Thro' dark defiles — no object meets their view, 

But Heaven above, and now, and then, the floods 

Below, thro' openings in the woods. 

With toil and thirst fatigu'd, they sit and weep, 

As they survey steep rising over steep, 

And pathless Forests multiply around, 

And dangers press, and signs of death abound. 

At length the jaded spirits rise again, 

Cheer'd by the boundless prospect, from the plain, 

Of cattle browsing on the flowery lea, 

And ships that sweep the Adriatic sea. 

G 



82 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET XCIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

The Pilgrims reach a solitary glade ; 

Chesnuts and beech associate their shade 

With quivering aspen, and funereal yew, 

Which veil a neighbouring Monastery from view, 

Whose gothic turrets tremble in the gale, 

Perch'd on a rock that overlooks the vale. 

Conventual chauntings break upon the ear, 

Which sometimes distant seem, and sometimes near. 

The solemn sounds, by turns both loud and faint, 

Denote the requiem for a dying Saint. 

A Brother dies confess'd, his sins forgiven ; 

The " requiescat " aids his flight to Heaven. 

As to the spot the Passengers repair, 

The Chaunt dissolves, and dies away in air. 

SONNET XC1V. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

The Temple stands, close by the Convent walls, 
With fretted cloisters and Prebendal stalls. 
Thro' the groin'd aisles the cowled Monks abound, 
Whose ghost-like figures pass without a sound, 
And vanish like a shadow, or a dream, 
Lit to our vision by the twilight's gleam. 
Tapers and Lamps aiound the Altar glow, 
And shed a pomp on every shrine below. 
These scenes of dread mysteriousness controul 
The passions of the heart, and awe the soul. 
High mass begins, and now the Organ swells, 

And choral praise is breathed by all around ; 
The Anthem penetrates the neighbouring dells, 

'Till rising mountains intercept the sound. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 83 

SONNET XCV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

On a rude knoll of Forest, which commands 

Extensive views, a ruin'd Abbey stands. 

The Adder lurks, the Thistle shakes its head, 

Where Virgins' beads were told, their tears were shed, 

And where Priests chaunted in the house of prayer, 

Now aspens quiver to each breath of air. 

From the cleft arch the nauseous Elder springs ; 

Around the battlements the Ivy clings. 

Fragments of sculpture mingle in a mass, 

Or lie conceaPd within the matted grass. 

To ages past the memory returns, 

Oft' as the broken busts and mouldering Urns 

Obtrude upon the view, or as the nave 

Totters to ruins, o'er the Abbot's grave. 

SONNET XCVI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

We pass'd the Portal, by the crystal flood, 

And sought the site where once the Temple stood. 

Chesnuts coeval with the structure fade, 

And scarce protect the ruins which they shade. 

The while we linger'd in this dread retreat, 

The hollow pavement groan'd beneath our feet. 

Imagination pictured souls distrest, 

Rous'd by our footsteps from their marble rest. 

The bats seek refuge, and the daw a home, 

Amid' the relicks of the gilded dome. 

The turrets lean, the cluster'd columns nod 

Which once sustain'd the domicile of God. 

A superstitious fear creeps o'er the soul, 

Which it would rather cherish, than controul. 



84 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET XCVJI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

Lo ! the huge fragments, in confusion hurl'd, 
Denote the spot, secluded from the World, 
Where feudal chieftains, clad in armour bright, 
Led forth their troops to war, their chief delight ; 
Or where they feasted, 'till the Morning hour, 
And spurning rest, adjourned to Lady's bovver. 
Escaping from its fount, the incipient flood 
Winds round the lawn, on which the Castle stood, 
Feeding wild flowers which on its banks abound, 
And spreads a dewy freshness all around. 
'Midst poplar shades the streamlet speeds its way 
And soon expands into the glare of day, 
Reflecting foliage, precipices, caves, 
And the wild deer, that stoop to sip 'its waves. 

SONNET XCVIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

When Planets twinkled at the midnight hour, 
And threw their gleam upon the Castle tower, 
The soul was fiil'd with superstitious fear, 
And notes mysterious sounded on the ear : 
So sweet the notes, that Silence did not mourn 
Her empire lost, nor wish for its return. 
Ah ! do those strains prognosticate the end 
Of some near Relative, or dearer Friend ? 
Or have the Spirits of the sainted dead 
Sprung into life from their sepulchral bed, 
To charm the Christian, as he pants for breath, 
And serenade him in the hour of death ? 
The Pilgrims deem the music from on high, 
And gaze for Angels hovering in the sky. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 85 

SONNET XCIX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The lessening gloom approaching Morn reveals, 

And glimmering light upon the darkness steals. 

To western worlds receding Vapours fly, 

And radiant gleams relume the eastern sky, 

And spread their colours of so rich a hue, 

That Heaven seems opening on the Pilgrims' view. 

The distant hills are seen, and then the lawn 

Moist with the dew, and brightning with the dawn. 

Gales sweep the plain, and penetrate the bowers, 

Charg'd with the scent of herbs, and breath of flowers. 

The Birds, awaken'd by the solar ray, 

Their couches quit, and vocal homage pay. 

The Pilgrims join the Songsters of the air 

In pealing anthems, and spontaneous prayer. 

SONNET C. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The Pyrenean heights had long been seen, 
Tho' mist would rise, and clouds would intervene : 
But now they proudly court a nearer view, 
And as our eyes successive cliffs pursue, 
The waning sunbeams on their summits rest, 
Whose peaks aspire, with snowy mantle drest. 
A purple tint pervades the cave's retreat, 
And shadows tremble at the Mountain's feet, 
Which yield the Pilgrim more refin'd delight, 
As temper'd lustre recreates the sight. 
The Vallies blush with groves of Mulberry, 
Whilst to the South the wide expanded sea 
Is in the distance seen, its waves at rest, 
Blue as the sky, reflected on its breast. 



86 THE shepherd's garland. 

SONNET CI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

Onward we speed, unwilling to delay, 

Soon as the Sun emerges into day. 

Its radiations dart from East to West, 

Then cast a lustre on the Mountain's crest, 

Whose crystal pinnacles mount into view, 

And change their purple for an azure hue. 

As gleams the Sun, new tints arrest the sight, 

Here green as emerald, there like sapphires, bright ; 

And Icicles grow brilliant, like the gem 

That blazes from the Monarch's diadem. 

Nature, reviv'd by customary rest, 

Smiles, like the Maid with bridal jewels drest. 

Birds hid in trees, and brake and rocks among, 

Waken Aurora with a matin song. 

SONNET CII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The Pilgrims mount the region of the air 

Where glaciers vegetable life enshroud, 
And to the Mountain's snowy ridge repair, 

Which intermingles with the passing cloud. 
With giddy heads, and trembling steps they go, 
To ken the gulph precipitous below. 
Thro' dark ravines they watch the torrent pour 
Its dashing foam, but scarcely hear its roar. 
By high locality inspir'd, the mind 

Imagines Earth as lost, and Heaven as near ; 
And from terrestrial apathy refin'd, 

Seems, like a Spirit, in a brighten sphere. 
The Body sinks to temporary rest ; 
The Soul, cntranc'd, seems numbcr'd with the blest. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. ^7 

SONNET CITI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

To fly the pangs of persecuting thought, 

Nature's grand scenery Matilda sought, 

Where rocks erect their heads, and where the wood 

Declines in coppice, 'till it rea^h the flood. 

Now thro' the pathway hastily she hies, 

To gain the cliff that mingles with the skies, 

Where Nature's rarest charms combine their aid, 

To solace absence, and divert the Maid 

From Love's alarms. A Swain, who left his flocks, 

To court the solitude of wood, and rocks, 

Screen'd by a thicket, tun'd his notes to lays 

Which mourn'd a loss, and told of happier days. 

Her soul was melted by the pensive strain, 

And long she paus'd to hear it o'er again. 

SONNET CIV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES* 

The Travellers pause, and tremble, whilst they hear 
The bantlings of a neighbouring Mountaineer, 
Call to their play-mates, from the beetling steep 
Which courts the blast, and overhangs the deep. 
They watch the little host unite to throw 
The loosen'd fragment, to the Lake below, 
Which, with accelerating speed, descends, 
And shews its progress as the sapling bends ; 
Midway it bursts again to open view, 
And shiver'd slates the beaten track pursue. 
At length, the whirlpool terminates their play, 
Shewn by the dashing curve with central spray, 
Which whirls, with huge confusion, round and round, 
Whilst echoes mock, and reproduce the sound. 



88 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET CV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The Cross appears the story to renew 

Of Pilgrim, murder'd by the Bandit crew : 

The smoke, ascending from the neighbouring dell, 

Denotes the cavern, where the Robbers dwell. 

There each receives his delegated toil 

For murder, burglary, and midnight spoil. 

To claim protection from these men of sin, 

The Muleteer repeats his vesper hymn. 

With journies, fastings, thirst and terror, faint, 

He sues for succour to his Patron Saint ; 

Nor will he venture on the lonely plain, 

'Till Paternoster he recites again. 

He counts his beads, and prays to be forgiven, 

For all his sins committed under Heaven. 

SONNET CVI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYREN ES. 

Majestic scenes of Nature draw the mind 

To thoughts of God, and love of human kind. 

With holy flames the Pilgrims' bosoms glow, 

As they survey the pinnacles of snow 

Which crest the heights, or view the midway green, 

Won from the crags, and variegate the scene ; 

Or watch the River at the Mountain's feet, 

Whose waters now expand, and then retreat, 

With varying colours, sometimes dark and blue, 

Then white with foam, or glittering as the dew. 

Such sights, in mercy, to mankind are given ; 

They tranquillize the mind, like thoughts of Heaven. 

Mov'd by such scenes the troubled spirits weep ; 

Pains are forgot, and lust and anger sleep. 






THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 89 

SONNET CVII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

Apart from man here desolation reigns : 
No herbage decks the rocks, no flower the plains. 
Here the gaunt Wolf, and other beasts of prey, 
Prowl thro' the night, and lurk in dens by day, 
And never quit their haunts within the wood, 
Unless to glut their appetites for blood. 
The Pilgrims halt, and humble viands spread 
Under the palm tree's hospitable shed — 
Then to the Cross their salutations pay 
Which crowns the rock impending o'er the way, 
And muse on Him, who, as thro' life He sped, 
Had not a place where He might lay His head ; 
Who pray'd of Heaven His Murderers to forgive, 
And died, that men eternally might live. 

SONNET CVHI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The freshened Travellers rose at closing day ; 
Thro' Mountains steepest tracks their journey lay. 
But ere they move, they cast around their eyes, 
And nought survey but Mountains, rocks, and skies. 
The Sun had sunk below the Mountain top 

And hasten'd on 'mongst other climes to shine, 
But thro' the opening cliff the sunbeams drop 

A parting gleam, to tinge the Forest pine, 
And bring to light the castellated Tower, 
Which mark'd the seat of military power. 
E'en whilst the Pilgrims gaz'd, vanish'd the beam 

Which brought the Castle into tranquil view ; 
And nought was audible but gushing stream, 

And nothing visible, but stars and dew. 



90 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET CIX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

I hail the period, when advancing shades 

Distribute coolness on the hills and glades, 

As sinks the Sun to customary rest, 

And spreads its parting glory o'er the west. 

The field, the garden, and the glittering stream 

Soften the heart, and aid the Poet's dream, 

Whilst azure skies affect the mind and sight, 

Peck'd with the moon, and twinkling orbs of light. 

Now is the time, when devotees begin 

To chaunt with most efficiency, their hymn ; 

For strains of music, in the evening hour, 

Come to the soul with more subduing power 

And ecstacy, as sacred songs are driven 

Thro' ether, by the winds, and mount to Heaven. 

SONNET CX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The Pilgrims linger in the embowering shade 

Which intercepts the mount, and screens the glade ; 

No light breaks on them, but a glimpse of sky 

Thro' fractures of umbrageous canopy. 

As they advance, they ken, amidst the wood, 

The well-known spot, where once the Castle stood. 

Thro' avenues of shiver'd trees they pass, 

And walks o'er-grown with moss and matted grass. 

They dream of feudal wars, and men immur'd 

In Castle walls, with moat and fosse secur'd. 

They pass what once was gate-way, court and tower, 

Where watch'd the Centinel in midnight hour ; 

No part unmutilated meets the sight, 

But the arcli'd dungeon with its glimmering light. 



THE SHEPHERD'* GARLAND. 91 

SONNET CXI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

Amidst the highest Pyrenean peak 

Where goats and izards scanty pasture seek, 

The Garonne rises from its granite bed, 

And sometimes shews, and sometimes hides, its head. 

Swoln by fresh rills, its waves more rapid flow, 

Aided by currents from dissolving snow. 

O'er the abyss the craggy archway soars ; 

Thro' the cleft rock the dashing torrent roars. 

The River now- pursues its unseen way 

Thro' lowlier vallies, and o'er beds of clay. 

'Midst its dark meads the scanty herbage grows ; 

Under its oaks herds of wild deer repose. 

It gleams along the plains of Gascony 

And intermingles waters with the sea, 

' SONNET CXII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

Distance from Earth, proximity to sky, 
Attune the soul to heavenly harmony. 
When Nature smiles in robes of beauty drest 
And Sunshine gleams upon the Mountain's crest, 
We seem, beyond Earth's boundaries to rove, 
And touch the confines of the World above. 
Lo ! gathering portents in the air appear, 
And signs that indicate a tempest near. 
Screen'd from its fury, in the cave's retreat, 
We watch the clouds explode beneath our feet. 
The hollow cliffs reverberate the roar 
And new fledg'd Eagles into ether soar, 
Nor seek their aerie, till the rumblings sleep 
In the low vale, or perish in the deep. 



92 



THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 



SONNET CXIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The road descends from contact with the sky, 

Inclos'd by fences of rude Granite block, 
No vegetation can the Pilgrims spy, 

Save shrubs that tinge the summit of the rock, 
Or scanty herbs that thro* the caverns creep, 
Impassable but to the wild goats leap. 
The way leads farther down the Mountain's side 
Whence Landscapes glow in Pyrenean pride. 
Forests of pine, palms, vineyards, verdant downs, 
Start into view, with Villages and Towns. 
There too the Garonne spreads its widening course 
To Bay of Biscay, from its trickling source. 
To highest thoughts these harmonies give birth, 
As we survey the grandest scenes of Earth. 

SONNET CXIV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

Here its rough features Nature lays aside, 

And Flora nourishes in vernal pride ; 

And as the happy Travelers pass along, 

The Birds salute them with a choral song. 

The Cascades hurl their foam thro' beds of sedge, 

As on they rush, and roar from ledge to ledge, 

Whilst dripping Children round the Torrent play, 

Or watch the Rainbow form'd by Sun and spray. 

The Travellers pause, unwilling to depart, 

For such scenes awe the mind, and ease the heart. 

Touch'd by the sweet solemnity, they pray, 

As thro' the glade they bend their varied way ; 

Whilst their feet press the Pyrenean sod, 

Their Souls, cstrang'd from Earth, ascend to God. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 93 

SONNET CXV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

Lost in confus'd delight, the Pilgrims stood, 

As airs seolian wake the sleeping wood : 

While in high regions shrilly blew the gale, 

It breath'd a softer music thro' the vale. 

Whence comes the wind ? No finite creature knows : 

It comes at will, and where it will, it blows. 

Lo ! suddenly is hush'd the stirring sound, 

And Silence spreads her majesty around. 

Tranquillity on Earth, in air, and sky, 

Attests the presence of the Deity. 

The Soul, o'erpower'd by feelings undefined, 

Leaves, as it were, the body, far behind ; 

Asserts its title to a heavenly birth, 

And seems celestial, while it dwells on Earth. 

SONNET CXVI. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The sheep-bells twinkled underneath the rock ; 
The Shepherd's voice lur'd to the pen his flock ; 
Whilst barren crags o'erspread the Travellers head, 
Around his feet was fruitful verdure spread ; 
And herds of cattle pastur'd in the glade, 
Under the towering oak, and chesnut shade, 
And groupes reposed near to the flowery bank, 
Or lav'd their sides, or of the streamlet drank. 
The Cottage fires in brightness seem'd to vie 
With stars, that twinkled in the western sky. 
The Sun is gone, claim'd by another clime ; 
The Moon appears in majesty sublime ; 
But not as yet the Mountains ceas'd to glow, 
From the Sun's radiance, on their peaks of snow. 



94 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET CXV1I. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE APENNINES. 

How sweet the sound, when Evening breezes play 

Their elegiac strain to parting day, 

Which, like the Music of angelick host, 

Is slightly heard, and gradually is lost ! 

To guide her mate the glow-worm lights her lamp ; 

In thickest dell the bandit horde encamp ; 

Around the towering cliff which holds his nest, 

The Eagle hovers, and hopes there to rest. 

The scatter'd flocks stalk bleating thro' the vale, 

Whilst lingering Shepherds catch the Strangers tale. 

The Nightingale prolongs his note of love, 

As other melodies forsake the Grove. 

These scenes and sounds mix'd sentiments impart,"* 

And awe the mind, and interest the heart. 

SONNET CXVIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

To aid reflection in the musing mind 

And elevate the soul, to prayer inclin'd, 

The stately avenue of palms appears, 

With boughs entwin'd, but scatb/d with storms and years. 

Silence and gloom each wandering thought controul, 

And like an ancient Abbey awe the soul. 

No sound is heard, but of the distant bell 

Which calls to prayer, or rings the death-bed's knell. 

The Pilgrims now the twinkling sound pursue — 

The Sun is set — no Convent meets their view. 

At length the Moon emits her brightest light 

Upon the Forest gloom, and brow of night. 

Now they discern, thro' the illumin'd bower, 

The Convents' Window, belfry, roof, and Tower. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 95 

SONNET CXIX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

The Pilgrims watch the stars of each degree 
Of glory, seats of Immortality, 
Where they shall meet Companions gone before, 
And join their Relatives, to part no more. 
With mingled grief and ecstacy they weep 
For those that linger, and for those that sleep. 
And while they weep, Seraphic sounds again 
Burst thro' the wood, and sweep across the plain. 
Delusive fears return. The Pilgrims pray, 
And wish the shades of night transform'd to day. 
They count the minutes as they roll along, 
And mutter spells, or tune a sacred song. 
Again they tremble, and again they pray ; 
Once more the Music swells, and dies away. 

SONNET CXX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE PYRENEES. 

Two magic instruments are heard around ; 

Or does au echo reproduce the sound, 

The well-known sound (if Pilgrims guess aright) 

Which often bursts upon the ear of night, 

From the strange man, who, dying unconfest, 

Had lost the rights of consecrated rest ? 

His troubled Spirit, fugitive as air, 

Joins in each chaunt, responds to every prayer, 

And when the solemn services are o'er, 

Wanders "midst deserts, and is heard no more, 

Save in the night, when other sounds are still, 

The voice is heard again upon the Hill, 

Which prays that burial to his bones be given, 

And freed the portal that excludes from Heaven. 



96 the shepherd's garland. 

SONNET CXXI. 

ON DESCENDING FROM THE PYRENEES. 

From snow-clad height the Travellers descend, 
And to the vale beneath their footsteps bend. 
Sublimer objects vanish from the view, 
And lovelier scenes their wandering steps pursue. 
The Cottage smiles with garden, fruit, and bower, 
With pictur'd Saint, and Glass to tell the hour. 
Children run forth the stranger guests to greet 
With sun-burnt faces, and unsandall'd feet. 
On cheerful scenes the Pilgrims' minds repose, 
Where Aspens quiver, and the Landscape glows ; 
Yet, not without regret, their eyes retrace 
The distant wilderness, the howling waste, 
And Regions gleaming with ethereal gold, 
Which, looking back, they shudder to behold. 

SONNET CXXII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE SHORE, NEAR NAPLES. 

Waves after waves rush foaming at my feet, 
And quickly sound an orderly retreat. 
They retrogade successively from view, 
Advance again, and then retreat anew. 
Behold ! illumin'd by the solar ray, 
A fleet of vessels steering for the bay. 
Alike the crew and passengers resort 
To acclamations, as they view the port. 
The rock-birds hover, or in circles wheel, 
As round the cliffs the clattering Vessels reel. 
But when nor voices scare, nor bark molests, 
They quick return, to cower o'er their rests. 
Ere sails are furl'd, the Passengers descend, 
When Lovers meet, and Friend unites with Friend. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 97 

SONNET CXXIII. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE ENVIRONS OF FLORENCE. 

We 'quit, at eve, the City's towering pride 
Where Jesuits reign'd when Galileo died, 
And to the Arno's current bend our way, 
Dwell on its marge, or midst its vineyards stray. 
We heard the Mariners, when they begun 
Their vesper hymn. We watch'd the setting Sun 
With trailing radiance gild the silver stream 
Which aided once the musing Poet's dream. 
A dusky purple gather'd to the sight 
Which quickly deepen'd into shades of night. 
Then the fire-fly of Tuscany was seen 
To dart its flashes thro' the foliage green, 
And the cigala, hidden from the view, 
Blew his shrill pipe, and sipp'd the falling dew. 

SONNET CXXIV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OP SCENERY NEAR ATHENS. 

Amid' the vines, where Academus' wood 

Once wav'd its branches o'er Cephisus' flood. 

The Travellers pause, and as the waters roll, 

A new emotion occupies the soul. 

And Fancy pictures the Athenian Youth 

List'ning to aspirations after Truth, 

Whilst o'er the impassion'd audience Plato stands, 

With flowing vestment, and uplifted hands. 

Here the Cicada, hid 'midst matted grass, 

Salutes the classic pilgrims as they pass. 

His note commences with the rising day, 

And grows in vigour with the solar ray. 

Night ends the strain, which he next day renews, 

Refresh'd with rest, and fed with honey-dews. 

H 



98 THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 

SONNET CXXV. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF VENICE. 

The City braves each elemental shock, 
Thron'd 'midst the seas, and founded on a rock. 
Rear'd as it were by an Enchanter's wand, 
How firm her Palaces, and Temples stand I 
They breast the torrent, and defy decay, 
Tho' lash'd by billow, and o'erwhelm'd with spray. 
Now in the West the setting sunbeams glow 
And gild the waters, and Fruili's brow, 
Whilst the Rialto, Porch, and Colonnade 
Darken to view, and catch the Evening shade, 
Which, by degrees, invades the Ocean's breast, 
And then the Mountain's base, and then its crest, 
'Till the last gleam that linger'd on the eye 
Sinks in the sea, or mingles with the sky. 

SONNET CXXVI. 

ON A GONDOLA. 

Whether the Music comes from sea or grove, 

To anguish'd hearts it ministers relief, 
For now it swells to tenderness of love, 

And then subsides in cadences of grief. 
At length a Gondola appears to view 

With well-dress'd rowers, and a youthful band, 
Who with increasing taste their strains renew, 

As they gain on us, and approach the land. 
The choral voices linger in the air, 

Borne by the surge and breakers o'er the cove, 
And seem like hymns of Angels that repair 

From Heaven to Earth on messages of love. 
The solemn sounds accord with parting day, 
Which gradually decline, and die away. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 99 

SONNET CXXVII. 

ON TYRE. 

The purple City, bordering on the Main, 
Was fam'd for harbours, and commercial gain. 
The Mountain's summit, and the Vale's retreat 
Yielded their treasures for the Tyrian fleet. 
The oak of Bashan, which for ages lasts, 
Furnish'd her oars ; its Cedars form'd her masts. 
Arvad lent seamen. Strangers from afar 
Renown'd for prowess, serv'd as men of war. 
Egyptian marts, whose traffic never fails, 
Exported broider'd linen for her sails. 
Now desolation reigns. Where Princes met, 
The Fisherman is seen to mend his net. 
O'er Tyre's foundations Ocean's waves are cast, 
Absorb'd her glory, and her grandeur past. 

SONNET CXXV1II. 

DESCRIPTIVE OF THE DEAD SEA AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 

The Patriarch ceas'd his communings with God, 
To spare the Cities, and avert His rod. 
Ten righteous persons were not to be found, 
So Fire consum'd the men, and parch'd the ground. 
Nor bird, nor fish can now endure the flood 
Which fills the Valley where Gomorrah stood, 
Ere sulphur-breathing Tempests, as the rain, 
Burst from the clouds, and delug'd all the plain. 
Lord ! may I find in the World's last distress, 
Some Zoar, bordering on life's wilderness, 
Whither my footsteps may for safety fly, 
When signs portentous gather in the sky ; 
Where, when the Earth is with convulsions riven, 
My soul may rest, and plume her wings for Heaven. 

h2 



100 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

SONNET CXXIX. 

DESCRIPTIVE OP MOUNT ARARAT AND ITS 
NEIGHBOURHOOD. 

The smiling Pastures, and the waving grain 

Attest the fruitfulness of vale and plain. 

The fleecy clouds repose on Ararat's breast, 

But denser vapours settle on its crest. 

Here the Ark rested, when the Waters fell ; 

Noah his altar rear'd in yonder dell. 

In yon blue sky the Rainbow first appeared, 

And thence Jehovah's gracious voice was heard, 

4< No more the waves shall o'er the Earth prevail, 

Seed-time and Harvest never more shall fail." 

May I seek refuge in the Christian ark 

From storms of life, until I disembark, 

And spring to Freedom, on the heavenly shore, 

Where storms subside, and Tempests rage no more. 



THE ROSE. 

addressed to miss rasch, of merton, surrey. 

I watch'd the Rosebud spring to birth, 

Warm'd by the solar ray ; 
Next morn, it lay upon the Earth, 

And hasten'd to decay : 

So, oftentimes, a Babe is seen 

To quit a Mother's breast, 
And fall, untimely, to the ground, 

And seek its mouldering rest. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 101 

I watcb/d a Rose, full-blown, at dawn, 

And saw it droop, 'ere Noon ; 
Its leaves, at mid-day, strew'd the lawn, 

And faded with the Moon. 

How short is Manhood's longest day, 

Half sunshine, and half shower ; 
Its strength and beauty melt away, 

Like dew upon a flower. 

But he, who errors paths foregoes, 

And loves in truth to walk, 
Shall boast an odour, like the Rose, 

When sever'd from the stalk. 

For when the Rose bows down 'its head, 

Unlike another flower, 
Its wither'd leaves a perfume shed, 

As when it grac'd the bower. 

Be Thou, like to the Tree, that blows 

With fragrancy of breath, 
So shalt thou gain, as does the Rose, 

Our love, in life and death. 



THF STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 

ADDRESSED TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. POET LAUREATE. 

What is the flower, that I descry, 

With cluster'd bloom, and taper stem, 

Resembling Planets, in the sky ? 
It is the star of Bethlehem, 



102 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND, 

It represents the eastern Light 

Which burst forth by Divine command, 

And beam'd upon the wise mens' sight, 
And beckon'd to a distant land. 

They left their home in Winter's cold, 
While Faith and Hope their toils beguile, 

Bold in pursuit, 'till they behold 
The long expected, promis'd Child. 

They reach the top of Zion's hill, 
Weary and worn, at close of day, 

From whence, they view the star stand still, 
Over the spot, where Jesus lay. 

They hurry on with quicken'd pace 

And patriotic offerings bring : 
They look upon the Infants' face, 

And hail Him Prophet, Priest and King. — 

Around my home, if life shall last, 
The Stars of Bethlehem shall abound, 

And near them, Passion-trees shall cast 
Their blossoms down, to strew the ground. 

And I shall seem to see the Child, 
As I survey the Bethlehem star, 

And watch His looks, as when He smil'd 
Upon the presents, brought from far. 

And I shall think upon the stall, 

Where first Messiah drew His breath, 

And next upon King Herod's hall, 
Whence issu'd mandates for His death. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 103 

These solemn thoughts will seize my mind. 

As I survey the star-like flower, 
"Which an appropriate place shall find, 

Both in my Garden and my bower. 

Southey, to thee I consecrate 

These lines — Truth's Champion and its Bard. 
Tho' scorners rail, and bad men hate, 

Yet thou shalt have thy due reward. 

Whilst false lights glimmer in the sky, 

And Meteors glare, and then depart, 
Oh may the day-star, from on high, 

Beam on thy face, and cheer thy heart. 

And may its penetrating light 

Scatter the clouds and mists away, 
That fain would intercept the light 

Of glory, in eternal day. 

And bright as Light shall prove the Crown 

That shall one day, to thee be given, 
When thou shalt lay life's burden down, 

And shine a beacon-light from Heaven. 

In the mean while, accept from me, 

To deck thy brow, a Diadem, 
Wreath'd from the bay, and myrtle tree, 

And gemm'd with stars of Bethlehem. 



104 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

THE LILY, 

ADDRESSED TO MISS BROOKLAND, OF NETHERBURY, 
DORSET. 

The Lily rises midst the grass, 

And spreads its bloom in English fields. 

Yet Indian gums cannot surpass 

The fragrance, which the Lily yields. 

Its beauteous blossom has no need 

Of manual labour for its dress, 
Yet royal robes cannot exceed 

Its vest of native comeliness. 

God beautifies each flower that blows, 
As well as feeds the birds of prey, 

And the same Power on Man bestows 
His food and raiment, day by day. 

To Heaven, the hungry Raven cries, 
And the clotb/d Lily incense sheds ; 

And shall not Prayer and Praise arise, 
When we repose upon our beds ? 

There, shelter'd from the wind and cold, 
Whilst Pilgrims shiver on the sod, 

Let Blessings and the gifts be told, 

Which we derive from Nature's God. — 

Dear Child ! I seem to hear thee cry, 
" Oh ! let the flower to me be given." 

No. Let it flourish to the sky, 

And dedicate its sweets, to Heaven. 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 105 

The rifled flower, upon thy dress, 

Would from its stateliness descend ; 
Then let it deck the Wilderness, 

Till Nature brings it to its end. 

Or should it perish in the vale, 

As other flowers, before, have done ; 
From neighbouring bush the Nightingale 

Shall chaunt its elegiac song. 

And daisies shall their bloom renew, 

And cowslips variegate the gloom, 
And day-light clouds and evening dew 

Shall pour their tears upon its tomb. 

And when is clos'd the Wintry night 

That shall succeed, upon the plain, 
The Lily shall burst forth to light, 

And scent the Wilderness again. 

Dear Emma, in thy path of life, 

Evil will follow thee, and good — 
Peace will present itself, and strife ; 

Nightshade will charm, like fruit, for food. 

But Tares spring up amongst the wheat, 

And not contaminate the corn, 
And Lilies, beautiful as sweet, 

Uninjured, smile, beneath the thorn. 

And when thy earthly race is run, 

Thou wilt resign thy vital breath, 
And lie interr'd, beneath the Sun, 

That penetrates the shades of death, 



106 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

And then thy Spirit shall be glad 
To feel itself from bondage, free, 

And rise on Seraph's pinions, clad 
With robes of immortality. 



THE DAISY. 

ADDRESSED TO MISS CAROLINE WICKHAM, OF NORTH- 
HILL HOUSE, NEAR FROME. 

Behold the little dappled flower 

Which blossoms on the lawn, 
The day's eye caird, because she spies 

The earliest tint of dawn. 

To catch the re-appearing beam 

She lifts her taper form, 
And bares her bosom to the sky, 

Fearless of wind, or storm. 

But her eye closes, when the Sun 

Retires within the deep ; 
She bends her head, and shrouds her face, 

And sleeps, whilst he does sleep. 

And when he quits his watery bed 

Another race to run, 
She still, of every flower that blows, 

Is first to greet the Sun. 

The Orb ran on his usual course 

When Edwin was no more, 
And shone upon the Daisy's face, 

Which smil'd, as heretofore, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 107 

Not so, the Damsel, left behind ; 

Tears from her eye-lids flow ; 
The Sun, which shone so bright is set, 

To rise no more below. 

No alien love can charm her heart ; 

She still laments the dead : 
The flower has lost the morning ray, 

And droops, and hides her head. 

Sometimes his form, in passing clouds, 

Is to her fancy given, 
Which turns away its head from Earth, 

And beckons her to Heaven. 

Soon, like the flower and orb of day, 

Which every morning rise, 
They shall renew their interviews, 

And under purer skies. 

There, when the marshall'd hosts of light 

Are from their order driven, 
More genial heat shall cheer the plant, 

Transferred from Earth to Heaven. 

And thou, sweet Maid, good as the flower, 

And as divinely fair, 
Rise to thy orisons, and bow 

At eve, in secret prayer. 

So, when thy liberated soul 

Shall into darkness fly, 
A beam shall dart from Heaven, and light 

A path-way to the sky. 



10S THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

And kindred forms, which long had reaeh'd 

The mansions of the blest, 
Shall at Heaven's portals duly wait, 

To guide thee to thy rest. 

There, no night closes up the flower ; 

No Sun emits a ray ; 
God's glory, that will never set, 

Spreads everlasting day. 

And blossoms shall endure, as fresh, 

As when their bloom begun, 
And they shall elevate their heads, 

As Daisies greet the Sun. 



THE SUN-FLOWER. 

ADDRESSED TO THE REV. CLARKE JENKINS, B.D. 
RECTOR OF GREAT-LEIGHS, ESSEX. 

What love is borne unto the Sun 

By this expansive flower ! 
It turns its aspect to the skies, 

Whether they smile, or lower. 

And as the Luminary speeds 

His progress thro' the day, 
The heliotrope inclines its head, 

To greet him on his way. 

And when the Sun withdraws his light, 

And seeks his Ocean-bed, 
The Plant contracts its flowers, and droops, 

As tho' its life had fled. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 109 

And when the Sun has ceas'd to sleep 

Beyond the western main, 
And peeps above the Earth, the Plant 

Erects its head again. — 

"Whene'er the Sun of Righteousness 

Shines on me from above, 
Mine eyes are lifted, and my breast 

Is lighted up with love. 

Sometimes a mist obscures the Sun, 

And grief, or sickness brings ; 
I watch, until it re-appears 

With healing on its wings. 

And as the drooping flower and stem 

Are raised by solar heat, 
So beams from Heaven illume my head, 

And rectify my feet. 

When earthly objects tempt my heart, 

'Midst grovelling scenes to stray, 
This plant directs me to look up 

And love the brighter way. 

Whatever love thou may'st profess, 

My friend, for other flowers, 
Be sure to let the heliotrope 

Be planted in thy bowers. 

The fragrance of the blushing Rose, 

From cares may set thee free ; 
And the shy Lily of the vale, 

May preach humility. 



110 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

But the Sun-flower instructs the Soul, 
Where Christians should aspire ; 

It points above, whence thou may'st draw 
A spark of heavenly fire, 

Should the Calumniator's breath 
Spread darkness o'er thy fame, 

Rays from on high shall pierce the gloom, 
And re-illume thy name. 

But whilst the halo veils the light, 

No path of duty shun ; 
The flower, tho' wet with storm or cloud, 

Moves on to meet the Sun. 

And soon the radiating beams 

Their brilliancy renew, 
And first empearl, and then absorb 

The Sun-flower's rain, or dew. 

Then, from the Sun-flower, learn to look 

For solace, in thy fears ; 
Heaven's sunshine first shall purify, 

And then dry up thy tears. 

Then strew the. Sun-flower's seed abroad, 
And may the frequent shower 

Nurture each plant, till it produce 
The fring'd and yellow flower. 

And so, the Heliotrope shall smile 

On every spot around, 
And every border, where it grows, 

Shall seem like holy ground. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. Ill 

And may its Heaven directed looks 

And pensive air impart 
An elevation to thy mind, 

And feeling to thy heart. 

And may the blue inviting sky 

And brightness from above, 
Calm angry passions, when they rise, 

And melt thy soul to love. 



THE COLUMBINE. 

ADDRESSED TO MISS CATHERINE HOULTON, 
OF FARLEIGH CASTLE, WILTS. 

Thou shoulds't have longer tarried here, 

To grace my Hermit-cell, 
Where I, by Heaven's benignity, 

In peace and comfort dwell. 

Whilst here, I caught tb/ impassioned wish 

That glided from thy tongue, 
That thou hadst been to me the flower, 

Instead of her I sung. 

But tho' the Daisy be applied, 

There is another Flower, 
Which yields an equal theme for song, 

And grows within my bower. — 

Sometimes incongruous Natures mix'd 

In unity combine, 
So Bird and Flower, together join'd, 

Compose the Columbine. 



112 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

Some men prefer the Nightingale, 
And some, the hird of Jove ; 

But give to me, of all the birds, 
Give me the Turtle-dove. 

Seek we its image in the flower 

And find it, if we can, 
Where shrouded in its sanctuary, 

It shuns the eye of man, 

Like the night-loving Philomel 

Within the silvan dell, 
Or like a Monk, in cloistered gloom, 

Or Hermit, in his cell, 

Who, in sequester'd solitude, 
Dream all their lives away, 

As tho' mankind were only form'd 
To meditate, and pray. 

But thou, sweet maid, with clearer views 
And more expanded mind, 

Must own that they hest worship God, 
Who love, and serve mankind. 

To Him, who watch'd us thro' the night, 

We owe our matin song, 
And to the same protecting Power 

Our vesper prayers belong. 

But thro' the day-light, and until 
The hours of prayer return, 

Men ought to bustle with the world, 
And comfort those that mourn. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 113 

Oh ! come again, sweet maid, to me, 

And do not long delay, 
And we will pray, at mom and eve, 

And walk abroad by day. 

And we will view the splendid dome, 

And press the Cottage door ; 
And shew our reverence to the rich, 

Our pity to the poor. 

Oh ! come again, and see thy flower 

Which in my garden grows ; 
Which, for thy sake, I shall prefer 

To every flower that blows. 

Then will I lead thee to the bower 

Where other beauties shine, 
And thou shalt see me pluck the Rose, 

And spare the Columbine. 

But should'st thou pluck it, and disturb 

The Turtle in its nest, t 

I would forgive the theft, and wear 
Thy emblem at my breast. 

And should'st thou seem to hear it say, 

" Oh ! had I wings to fly," 
Then thou would'st rend its prison cell, 

And tempt it to the sky. 

And whilst thy dextrous hands unfold 

The image of the Dove, 
My Friendship I would proffer thee, 

Too old to offer love. 



114 the shepherd's garland. 

But thou, in time, to some fond Swain 

Affectionate shalt prove, 
Graceful and modest as the flower, 

And faithful as the Dove. 

In the mean time, to pray and learn, 

Rise up at early Morn, 
So Studies shall enrich thy mind, 

And Virtues shall adorn, 

And I will ne'er forgetful prove, 
Much less appear unkind, 

But keep thy emblem on my breast, 
Thy image in my mind. 

And whilst I sit alone, and muse 
On all God's gifts to me, 

And ask for their continuance, 
A prayer shall rise for thee. 

Thus, and thus only, can I hope, 
That thou shalt share my love, 

And thou by suitable returns, 
Shalt prove my Turtle-dove. 

But as a Flower too, sweet maid, 
My verse shall make thee mine, 

For, by the joining both in one, 
Thou art my Columbine. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 115 



THE PASSION-TREE. 



ADDRESSED TO MRS. SARAH BAILEY. 



I sang the Daisy, which unbars 

Its bosom to the light, 
Soon as the Sun dawns, and the Stars 

Escape beyond the sight. 

I sang the Sun-flower too, whose breast 

The rising beams adorn, 
Soon as the Moon, requiring rest, 

Recedes before the IVJorn. 

And next I sung the Columbine, 

Beneath whose silky fold, 
The Dove lies hid, as in the mine 

Is treasur'd gem, or gold. 

And last of all, the Passion-flower 

Demands the Poet's lay, 
Which comes in blossom every hour, 

As ripe ones fade away. 

No bloom, however sweet, or bright, 

Can tell so good a tale, 
Whether it courts the morning light, 

Or scents the evening gale. 

Spirit on high, that didst inspire 

Harvey's seraphic soul, 
Inflame my heart with kindred fire, 

And every thought controul, 
i2 



116 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

While I survey the flower, and trace 

The lineaments divine, 
Which mark the features of its face, 

And on its surface shine. 

And unto Thee, who long didst live 
Beneath my sheltering roof, 

And of fidelity didst give 
An oft -repeated proof, 

I would inscribe the Passion-tree ; 

To thee the strains belong, 
For thou didst point it out to me, 

A subject fit for song. 

Accept the wish, that thou may'st live 
Still happy, and the Bard 

Rejoices, he has power to give 
To thee, thy due reward. — 

The Passion-tree, afraid of storms, 
Clings to the southern wall ; 

Its canopy a picture forms 
Of Pilate's Judgment-hall, 

Where He, who knew no guile nor sin, 

At the Tribunal stood, 
Whilst false accusers rush'd within, 

And clamour'd for His blood. 

And as the sympathetic mind 
Surveys the blossom'd flowers, 

I muse on all the acts unkind, 
That marked His. closing hours. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 117 

" Away, away, He shall not live," 

Sounded from every voice ; 
" Away with Him to death, and give 

Barabbas to our choice." 

The Rabble cry for blood again, 

For pity they have none ; 
Pilate expostulates in vain, 

" What evil hath He done?" 

He wash'd his hands, in fearful mood, 

Reluctance marked his face ; 
The maddened Jews replied, " His blood 

Be on us, and our race/' 

The vengeance, how can they withstand ? 

Like the first murderer, Cain, 
Vagrants they are in every land, 

Bearing the curse and stain. 

Sleep memory, whilst my sight beholds 

Messiah's cruel doom, 
Which still the Passion-tree unfolds, 

And figures on its bloom. 

I see the purple robe of scorn 

Descending to the stem, 
And as if taken from the thorn, 

There is the Diadem. 

And in the tendrils I can view, 

As He for Judgment stands, 
The thongs, which stripes on stripes renew ; 

The cords, that bound His hands. 



118 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

Fancy makes out the transverse tree, 
Round which the Women wail ; 

The hammer I can plainly see, 
And every spike and nail. 

I ken the Apostolic band, 
Who swore with Him to die ; 

Around Him rang'd, awhile they stand, 
Then in disorder fly. 

I seem to see Iscariot fall, 

Seiz'd by a guilty fear. 
Is not that shade, the cup of gall ? 

Is not that line, the spear, 

With which the Soldier pierc'd His side 

As underneath he stood, 
And forthwith gush'd the mingled tide 

Of water and of blood ? 

The Thunder howls, the Lightnings fly, 
Whilst He hangs on the tree ; 

His voice is loudly heard, " Lord ! why 
Hast Thou forsaken me ?" 

Tho' only noon, the day seems spent ; 

I grasp the flower again; 
And lo ! a mimic vail is rent, 

Rent by my hands in twain. 

Is there not darkness in the sky ? 

Does not the Earthquake nod ? . 
Does not the old Centurion cry, 

"This is the Son of God?" 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 119 

I close mine eyelids ou the sight, 

Where I had looked too long ; 
Then lift them up unto the light, 

And terminate my song. 



THE WATERS. 

Tiavra e£ vZaros. 

Thales. 

ANALYSIS. 

Before the Creation of the Heavenly Bodies, the 
Spirit of God moved upon the face of the Waters and is 
supposed to have given them lustre and motion. The 
virtue thus imparted is assimulated to the influence 
exerted hy the Spirit in the water and wine of the two 
Sacraments. 

The fluidity of the Waters causes Sound, as is illus- 
trated in the murmurs of the rill, the rush of Rivers, the 
dash of Cascades, and the roar of the Sea. 

Navigation described. Vapours arise from the Sea, 
and form springs, which return, and again rise in vapours. 
Bounds set the Sea. 

Allusion is next made to the Waters above the Fir- 
mament, which, breaking through its floor, and mingling 
with the fountains of the great Deep which are broken 
up, and with the torrents of rain from the clouds, occa- 
sion the destruction of the Earth by the Deluge. 



120 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

The Rainbow described as the pledge of Peace on 
Earth, and the Rainbow in Heaven. 

Historical notices of Waters in the Jewish and 
Christian Dispensations. 

The Luminaries of Heaven reflected in the Waters. 
The lustre on its surface will continue, till the Earth's 
final Catastrophe by Fire, which will give birth to a new 
Heaven and a new Earth, where are Rivers of pleasure 
at God's right hand for evermore. 

'Ere Heaven and Earth had sprung to light 
From the primeval womb of Night, 
God's Spirit mov'd — the Waters glow, 
And instantly begin to flow ; 

Resembling most the Light divine 
And holy Water, which combine 
To wash Man's mortal sin away, 
And turn his darkness into day. 

Still with God's light the Waters glow 
Like polish'd steel, and when they flow, 
To them the faculty is given 
Of Sound, which seems the voice of Heaven. 

The Fountains mingling form the Rill 
Which winds, and trickles down the hill, 
And carries Music, thro' the vale, 
And modulates the passing gale, 

And charms invisibly the ear, 
That Fancy deems an Angel near. 
The Pilgrim starts, and looks around, 
And seems to tread enchanted ground. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 121 

At length the rills to Rivers rise, 
And swell the winds that sweep the skies, 
But as they glide along the Plain, 
Their voice pours forth a loftier strain. 

Thro* Rocks, constructed like a wall, 
Bursts forth the thundering Waterfall : 
The Swain, when darkness spreads around, 
Is guided homeward by the sound. 

The Poet sits beside the cave, 
To hear the rolling billows lave 
The echoing rocks, and then subside, 
And hasten back to meet the tide. 

He loves to listen to the roar, 
As waves draw near to lash the shore, 
And then retire on Ocean's breast, 
And sink in murmurs to their rest. 

Soon other billows swell, and reach 
With the same sounds the rock or beach 
And retrograde upon the deep, 
And in the Ocean's chambers sleep.— 

Upon the buoyant Ocean's breast 
Ships sail, or anchoring, ride at rest. 
At God's command, the waves subside, 
And yield a pathway thro' the tide. 

And Seas their vapoury stores prepare 
To mount the skies, and float in air, 
Which melt and fall in genial showers, 
To nurture plants and freshen flowers. 



122 the shepherd's garland. 

S weird into fulness by the rain, 
The Rivers seek the Sea again, 
Bat quickly in fresh vapours rise, 
Revisiting the Earth and Skies. 

The Ocean strives to overflow 
Its bounds, but can no further go, 
Than to its limits on the Land ; 
It ebbs and flows at God's command. 

High above Earth Seas shine, and far 
Beyond the Sun and Moon and Star, 
Their billows wash the Continent 
Which lies above the Firmament. 

The Waves break thro' the starry floor, 
And instantaneously they pour 
Their Cataracts upon the Earth, 
And give diluvial action birth. 

The Fountains of the lower deep 

Burst from their chambers where they sleep 

The billows rise and multiply, 

Fed by the earth and air and sky. 

Man for his sins is quickly prest 
By streams, which once the Spirit blest ; 
They struggle with his vital breath, 
And prove the instruments of death. 

The gathering Waters ne'er again 
Shall deluge Valley, Hill, and plain ; 
For lo ! a sign of peace was given ; 
The Bow, connecting Earth with Heaven. 



THE SHEPHERD^ GARLAND. 123 

When Noah raised his eyes in prayer, 
He saw an azure arch in air ; 
Springing from Heaven on Earth it stood, 
And snriTd on the departing flood. 

The Bow is formed of rain or spray, 
Enlivened by the solar ray. 
Sometimes it breaks upon the sight, 
Companion of the Queen of night. 

Perchance our Spirits, when we die, 
Will climb the arch that spans the sky, 
To gain a Land, exempt from pain, 
Above the sunshine and the rain. 

Altho' nor storm nor Sun appear 
In the celestial atmosphere, 
The Rainbow captivates the sight, 
As emerald green, as topaz bright. 

The variegated tints divine, 
With intermingling glories shine, 
Whilst Cherubim their strains repeat, 
Its colours crown the Mercy-seat. — 

The Jews experienc'd much distress 
When traversing the Wilderness, 
But soon the smitten rock imparts 
Refreshment to their fainting hearts. 

And when the Israelites were sent 
To Babylonian banishment, 
They to the Waters spake their fears 
And swell'd the current with their tears. 



124 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

The Syrian reckoned Jordan mean 
Until it wash'd the Leper clean, 
And 'till he felt it could prevail 
Where his own stream was sure to fail. 

Conforming to an ancient rule, 
The Cripple sought Bethseda's pool, 
To which restoring powers were given, 
When stirr'd by Messengers from Heaven. 

When He, who came to seek and save, 
Retir'd from the Baptismal wave, 
The holy Spirit from above 
Alighted on Him, like a Dove. 

To Jacob's well our Lord drew near 
And drank its waters fresh and clear, 
And then spake of the living well, 
Whose Waters reach where Angels dwell. 

Our Lord appeared a willing guest 
To grace a Galilean feast ; 
When faiFd the produce of the vine, 
He changed pure water into Wine. 

An Image, clad in light divine. 
Was seen on distant waves to shine ; 
The Vessel's crew, arous'd from sleep, 
Survey'd the phantom on the deep. 

And as the spectral form drew near, 
Their hearts were overwhelm'd with fear, 
Until they recogniz'd their Lord, 
And saw His face, and heard His word. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 125 

He beckons Peter on the waves, 
And stretches out His hand, and saves " 
His sinking Friend, who help'cl, could stand, 
And tread the Waters as the Land. 

The Sky grows dark, the whirlwinds blow, 

And consternation spreads below ; 

He gains the ship, and instantly 

The winds are hush'd and calm'd the sea. — 

When tempests cease upon the plain, 
And stir no tumult on the main, 
The Moon and starry host look red, 
And glitter in their Ocean bed. 

And rays of outward brightness gleam 
Upon the Sea and inland stream ; 
Thus the recorded words are prov'd, 
" God's Spirit on the waters mov'd." 

And Light will sparkle on the Flood, 
Until the Moon be turn'd to blood, 
And Sun and Stars from Heaven shall fall, 
And fire consume this earthly ball. 

A blazing Comet will come near 
And set on fire our Hemisphere, 
And flame without, and burn within, 
And purify the world from sin. 

A renovated Heaven and Earth 
Shall, from its ashes, spring to birth, 
When war and pain and grief shall cease, 
And Righteousness shall dwell, and Peace. 



126 the shepherd's garland. 

The Sun and Moon will never rise 
To shine, in that new Paradise ; 
Nor will the Music of the Spheres 
Gladden our hearts, nor charm our ears. 

God's Throne will spread more glorious light, 
Than orh of day, or lamp of night, 
And Seraphs' hymns he heard around, 
With harps of correspondent sound. 

But tho' in this new clime, nor Sun, 
Nor Lunar orh their courses run, 
Yet where the Saints their God adore, 
Rivers shall shine for evermore, 

And as their water-courses glow, 
They shall with sweetest music flow, 
Until they reach, most cheerfully, 
The Ocean of Eternity. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 127 



ELEGIAC REFLECTIONS, 

IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD, ON THE EVENING OF 
A FUNERAL. 

Sequiturque Patrem non passibus oequis. Vib. 

Under the Yew's funereal shade I sit, 

(As sink the sunbeams towards their Ocean bed) 

To view the cavern'd Tombs, and the deep pit 
Where soon will lodge the relicks of the dead. 

The eye here sees, the World is but an Inn, 

Where Travellers come, and whence they quickly go ; 

Some seek repast, the choicest rooms within, 
And some are fed with coarsest food, below. 

They take their rest, and then are seen no more, 
Like clouds that meet in air, and take their flight ; 

Or like the waves, that roll unto the shore, 
And then return, and vanish from the sight. 

The Graves are formed' as other Graves have been, 

To front the rising Orb of orient skies, 
Where, borne on clouds, Messiah will be seen, 

When He shall come to bid the dead arise. 

Can Life be said to terminate on Earth ? 

We rather live, when we resign our breath ; 
We, in reversion, claim a heavenly birth, 

As we decline into the vale of death. 



123 the shepherd's garland. 

Our little vessels navigate the stream, 

Fann'd by the breezes of our hopes and fears ; 

Sometimes they sparkle in the solar beam, 
And oft are delug'd by a flood of tears. 

Sometimes they down the shallow current glide, 

Accelerated by the northern blast ; 
Sometimes amidst the stiller deep, they ride, 

Their shattered canvass furPd, their anchors cast. 

They sail upon the doubtful waves again, 
Seldom secure, and oftentimes distrest ; 

They onward pass upon the watery plain, 
Till they are harbour'd in their final rest. — 

Death makes but little havoc in the throng 
That crowd the city and infest the streets ; 

Its desolations to the scenes belong 

Of rural manners, and their shy retreats. 

The solemn sound of the infrequent bell 
Pierces, like Thunder, thro' the lonely cot, 

And fear pervades the hamlet, when the knell 
Calls to the Land, where all things are forgot. 

The Maid and Housewife at the door-steps stand, 
To learn from Neighbours, as they pass along, 

Upon what victim Death hath laid his hand, 
If to a foe they hear the sounds belong, 

Within their habitation they retire, 

To con the story of the dead man's life, 

And as they chat, and trim their evening fire, 
They mourn the feuds that generated strife. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 129 

The heart relents — the eyelid drops a tear — 
Vain was the effort to prevent its start — 

But did it burst its boundary thro* fear, 
Or from the overflowings of the heart ?-— 

Those heaps of Churchyard turf (the Poet sung) 
Were thro* the pangs of parturition born,* 

But turn'd to Earth, from whence at first they sprung, 
Are clad with grass, and bound around with thorn. 

Rest unprofan'd thou consecrated ground ; 

Ye relicks sleep within your clay-cold bed, 
Nor break your slumbers, 'till the Trump shall sound, 

To call the living, and arouse the dead. 

How plainly do these rais'd memorials tell, 

That Man oppos'd the Almighty's sovereign sway ; 

That when from innocence to guilt he fell, 
He mourn'd the loss of everlasting day, 

'Till the Restorer came, whose merits paid 
The cost of ransom, and by which we brave 

Hostilities from hell, and thro' whose aid 
We vanquish all the terrors of the Grave. 

He bore our guilt upon the cursed tree ; 

Carried our griefs, and suffer'd in our stead ; 
He vindicated immortality, 

Cried, " it is finish'd," and bow'd down His head. 

The Captive pines amid the dungeon's gloom, 

His Tyrant blind to tears, and deaf to prayer J 
But by an act of grace, freed from his doom, 
His pale face reddens in the fresh'ning air: 
* " The very turf on which we tread, once liv'd."— 'Blair. 



130 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

The sick man, visited thro' night and day, 

Upon his loathsome couch with lingering pain, 

Is recreated by the solar ray, 

And smiles in health, and cheerfulness, again : 

So does the dying Christian yield his breath, 
His pardon seaFd, primeval sin forgiven; 

He deems affliction, and considers Death, 
The gate to joy, the vestibule of Heaven. 

Art thou not thankful, that upon thy bed 
Thou may'st sustain th' inevitable doom ? 

That Friends will guard thee, dying, and when dead, 
Consign thy corse to thy Forefather's Tomb ? 

Ah ! think how sorely the first Christians far'd, 
Who had no refuge, but the rock, or hill ; 

When seiz'd, they shrunk not, and they nobly dar'd, 
When Jews or Gentiles rose to maim or kill. 

Search sacred Writ — the protomartyr view, 
As he before blaspheming scoffers stood. 

Ah ! ponder, how the rocky missiles flew, 

And laid him prostrate, weltering in his blood. 

The dying Hero cast his eyes towards Heaven ; 

Unearthly radiance beam'd his head around ; 
To cheer his soul celestial sights were given, 

And e'en the Earth, he press'd, seem'd holy ground. 

Behold him sinking to his last repose ; 

No heart relents, no eye is seen to weep ; 
Hear him implore God's mercy for his foes, 

And when he finished, see him fall asleep. — 



THE .^HEPHERD's GARLAND. 131 

The love of life prevails in every breast, 

And also fear of death until life ends : 
Men pass less agitated to their rest, 

Hoping remembrance from surviving Friends. 

Over the Sire, who claims ennobled birth, 

Is rais'd the shrine where sculptur'd kinsmen mourn ; 

His Body mingles not with common Earth, 
But claims the privilege of vault and urn. 

The rich man dies — his plumed corse is sent 
To its last home, in the escutheon'd hearse ; 

Affection meditates a monument, 

Blazon'd with arms, and laudatory verse. 

To their dead Friends the thrifty rustics raise 
The figur'd stone, which they approv'd in life ; 

And many Epitaphs, of homely praise, 
Perpetuate the Husband, and the Wife. 

How many yield to Death, whose clay-cold bones 
Not even shrouds, nor ornaments invest ! 

How many die, without funereal stones, 

With name and age, and day of death imprest ! 

Yon Hillock seems a long-forgotten heap : 
No care appears to guard its tenant's dust, 

But Friends are known at night when neighbours sleep, 
To watch the turf, and when defac'd, adjust. 

They also hope, that when they yield their breath, 

And bid adieu to all beneath the sky, 
They shall embrace their Relatives in death, 

And kindred dust shall intermingling lie, 
k 2 



132 the shepherd's garland. 

'Till Trumps shall sound and rouse their slumbering clay, 
(Which in unconsciousness lay side by side) 

When they shall burst from darkness into day, 
With the same forms they bore, but glorified. — 

The Pauper dies, and his exhausted frame 

Is laid in coffin of the coarsest wood ; 
Upon its lid, th' initials of his name, 

Tho' rudely form'd, by all are understood. 

Before the corpse is cover'd from the view, 

Friends shake his hand, and seem to say, " good night ;" 

Then the harsh gimlet, and the harsher screw, 
For ever screen Death's image from their sight. — 

Within the broken Sepulchre's dark cave, 

The truant School-boy from his master lurks ; 

The Sexton hastily prepares the Grave ; 
With unconcern he whistles, as he works. 

The hour of burial comes, and the dead Hind 
Is borne by men who number his own years : 

His nearest Relatives, arrang'd behind, 

Mourn his departure from the vale of tears. 

But see ! the corpse draws nigh ; the crowd abound ; 

The mourners walk, in long procession, slow : 
The Bell prolongs its oft-repeated sound — 

Each heart is touch'd and eye-lids overflow. 

The white-rob'd Priest exclaims in words divine, 

" I am the resurrection of the just ;" 
What silence reigns, when holy men consign 

Earth to the Earth, and dust to kindred dust, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 133 

Save when the cordage grates, or coffin reels, 
Loos'd by a trembling, or unskilful hand ; 

Or when a bosom Friend acutely feels ; 

Or echo wakes, rous'd by the shelving sand ! 

The mourning Friends in stationary trance 

Stand back, whilst Priest and Clerk their task pursue ; 
But when performed, they to the grave advance, 

And shake their heads, and look a last adieu. 

Soon as the whole solemnity is o'er, 

The Sexton lingers to fill up the cell ; 
The School-boys hurry thro the Belfry door, 

And join their strength to raise and ring the bell. 

The crowd disperse, and let us now review 

The Stones without, the Tombs within the walls, 

While recollection shall our grief renew 

For our lost Friends, before a dew-drop falls. — 

Well may the Cherub turn away his head, 

And spread his pinions on yon sculptur'd dome ; 

Either he comes to mourn an Infant dead, 
Or guide its liberated spirit, home. 

The little Stranger lingered, while he sipp'd 
The cup of life, and tasting it, he sigh'd ; 

He linger'd longer, 'till the Priest had dipp'd 
His person in the font, and then he died. 

O happy voyager ! thy vessel rides 

In calm security on Ocean's breast ; 
Scarce had inviting waters lav'd its sides, 

Ere it had reach'd the Haven of its rest. 



134 THE SHEPHERD'S GAR LANS. 

Go, embryo warrior, crown'd with victory, 
Ere the foe threatens, or the wars begin ; 

Go, join the choir, who chaunt in jubilee, 
" Worthy the Lamb, the sacrifice for sin." 

Go, beauteous Plant, and flourish in a soil 
And clime, that with thine innocency suit : 

There, where no Winters chill, no storms despoil 
Thy loveliness, perfect thy bloom and fruit. 

Or glitter in the Firmament, a Star, 
And take thy station near the milky way, 

That we may view thy radiance from afar, 
And recognize thy spirit in its ray. — 

Under yon tufted hillock's hallow'd mould, 
In dreamless silence, sleeps the prattling boy ; 

Clos'd are the eyes, the little heart is cold 
Of Mother's darling, and of Father's joy. 

The modest flowret open'd to the Sun ; 

Shew'd its faint blush, and sipp'd the early dew ; 
Its petals languished and decay begun, 

Whilst yet it blossom'd, in the Parent's view. 

The Father's frantic bosom knows no rest ; 

Thro' the long night the childless mother weeps ; 
Cease, Parents, cease, to lacerate the breast, 

The lovely Edward is not dead, but sleeps. — 

My footsteps now involuntary move 

To the fresh sward, where recently was laid 

The single object of a Father's love, 

The fairest beauty, and the purest maid. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 135 

I saw the Parent, with a bursting heart, 

Fall on his knees, beside his Daughter's bed ; 

I heard him from his supplication start, 

To sooth her grief, and lift her sinking head. 

Upon his knees I saw him fall again — 

His undivided heart and soul were given 
To God, but soon another shriek of pain 

Broke off once more his intercourse with Heaven. 

Again he knelt — his voice sunk into air, 

Oft as the thought sprung up, " we soon must part ;" 
He tried to pray — his was a secret prayer ; 

The silent aspiration of the heart. 

He felt the throbbings of Parental fears, 

When o'er his Daughter's couch he watch'd, or wept ; 
And as he bent, to steal a kiss, his tears 

And frequent sobs arous'd her as she slept. 

The noon-tide ray burst thro' a cloud, and beam'd 
With Heaven's own message, that her end was near ; 

And her illuminated Spirit seem'd 

Mature for glory, ere it left our sphere. 

No perturbations flutter'd at her breast, 
As rose the dew-drops that precede the night ; 

Tho' gloom beset the pathway to her rest, 
Yet borrow'd lustre made the darkness, light. 

The moon-beam quiver'd, as her spirit fled, 

And flash'd a pale and intermitting ray, 
And when the final struggle left her dead, 

It quiver'd once again, and died away. 



136 THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 

The Sire, with resignation, views the sod 

"Where on her Mother's breast the Daughter lies, 

And thro* the loving-kindness of his God, 
He hopes re-union with them in the skies.— 

The pale-face'd Lover, at the midnight hour, 
Escapes the curious gaze of vulgar eyes ; 

Nor Lightnings flashes, nor the storms that lower, 
Scare from the Grave, where Leonora lies. 

Her blithe companions, elegant as fair, 

Had spread her couch, and trimm'd her wedding vest ; 
The flowers were pluck'd to decorate her hair — 

The Bridegroom waited, and the Maids were drest. 

The minstrels chang'd to dirge the festal song ; 

The flowers adorn' d the slowly-moving hearse ; 
On the next Sabbath did the Village throng 

Read on her tomb-stone the instructive verse, 

" Ye Youths, who visit this sequestered spot, 

By curiosity, or feeling led, 
Oh ! never let the lesson be forgot, 

That the Grave serves me for my bridal bed." 

" Mourn, (cries the Youth,) the Maid, whose eyes outvied 
The brightest gem that decks a monarch's crown ; 

Lament the Maid, whose music, 'ere she died, 
Made all the world of harmony her own. 

Her beauteous person glisten'd to my view 

As Morning Star, or yon ccerulean bow, 
And prov'd a wandering meteor in the air, 

And falling sunk into the Earth below. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 137 

My little bark did down Life's current glide, 
Wafted by sails that flutter'd from the mast ; 

It danc'd awhile upon the sunny tide ; 

Wreck'd was my treasure by a sudden blast. 

Ah ! what is Pleasure, but a bubble broke ? 

And what is time, but as a transient stream ? 
And what is Hope ? a spark o'erwhelm'd with smoke. 

And what affection, but a troubled dream ? 

And what is outward beauty, whilst within 

The germ exists that generates decay ? 
And what is bloom, but tincture on the skin, 

Which at the touch of sickness melts away ? 

And is not Life, as frangible as glass ? 

Transient as flow'rs, whose colours quickly fly ? 
And holds not flesh communion with the grass, 

And with the mists, that vanish in the sky ? 

But will not soon another scene begin, 

To which eternal tenure will be given, 
Where we shall taste new joys, unmix'd with sin, 

And join connections, purified in Heaven?" 

Worn by the torture of continuous pain, 
He breath'd a wish near her remains to lie ; 

He burn'd to meet her, on the etherial plain, 

Where parted Friends are join'd, no more to die. 

Kind Heaven in pity yields to his request ; 

On the same bier his corse is quickly laid ; 
The same Youths bear him to the place of rest — 

One Grave contains the Lover and the Maid. 



138 • the shepherd's garland. 

Now let us for a brief reflection fly 

From sculptur'd gravestone, and from vaulted tomb, 
To shed a tear-drop, and to heave a sigh 

At the sad tale of Eloisa's doom, 

Whose cruel destiny it was to mourn 

The loss of peace, and feel the bosom's smart ; 

But when she saw her faithless Soldier spurn 
Her presence, as her love^ she broke her heart. 

Before her penitential spirit fled, 

In words almost inaudible, she sigh/d 
Her wish, not to be number'd with the dead, 

Who had liv'd chaste, and unpolluted died. 

Conformably to her expressed desire, 

By the north-pathway* was her body laid, 

Where never glow-worm lights with bridal fire, 
Nor sunbeams cheer, the unfrequented shade. — 

In yonder vale, arrayed in country brown, 

Grew Isabel, the envy of the fair ; 
Removed from country innocence to town, 

The blossom faded in contagious air. 

Thoughtless and gay, no ills could she descry ; 

She fed on dainties, and in splendour drest ; 
While youthful charms allur'd the wanton eye, 

By Princes followed, and by Lords carest. 



* " In ccemetriis pontificiis boni quos putant, ad austrum et 
oriens, reliqui, qui aut supplicio affecti, aut sibi vim fecissent, 
et id genus, ad Septentrionem sepeliantur." 

Moresimus. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 139 

But when her cheeks had lost their power to please, 
The herd of Lovers from her presence fled ; 

Opprest with want, and wasted by disease, 
The sky her covering, and the street her bed. 

Driv'n by misfortunes, she applies at last, 
For free admission to that generous Dome, 

Where houseless Females, shivering 'midst the blast, 
May quit their guilt, and find a second home. 

O Pity, raise thy supplicating voice 

To aid a Charity so wisely fram'd, 
Where broken-hearted wretches may rejoice ; 

Where heavenly comforts are with zeal proclaim'd. 

Perhaps those wretches, who our pity crave, 
Had once the power and will of doing good ; 

Perhaps, in days more fortunate, they gave 
Drink to the thirsty, to the hungry, food. 

What, tho' the Moralist, with stoic pride, 

Smile on their woe, or with unchristian scorn, 

Pass by, regardless, on the other side, 

Yet we will heal the breast, by anguish torn. 

Truth too shall tell, how hard it was to steer, 

Safe of the Quicksands, which engulph'd each joy, 

And, on Life's Ocean, guide the Vessel clear, 
From hidden rocks, which lurk'd but to destroy. 

Pilgrim ! if follies e'er beguil'd thy Youth, 

To thy heart Pity cannot plead in vain ; 
If thou hast swerv'd from honour and from Truth, 

Oh ! feel their sufferings, and relieve their pain. 



140 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 



Bat if thy piety the force has brav'd 

Of headstrong passion, in thy giddy years, 

Then spare a mite for Him, whose mercy sav'd 
Thy feet from falling, and thine eyes from tears. — 

See you the Maniac from the neighbouring town ? 

Seems she our pity, or our scorn, to crave ? 
Alas ! she griev'd a Mother, and brought down 

Her silver hairs with sorrow, to the Grave. 

Could she but have recall'd the angry word 
And frantic acts, that stirr'd domestic strife, 

And pierc'd her Mother's bosom, as a sword, 
She would have gladly sacrific'd her life. 

But when Death's dart hath dealt the fatal blow, 
And, from the Tower, the knell hath sent its sound, 

When the freed spirit seeks the shades below, 
And the pale corse is shrouded under ground, 

Remorse and Reparation come, too late, 

From the offending offspring of the womb — 

Her voice of sorrow cannot pass the gate 
Of death, nor reach the tenant of the Tomb. 

See with what trembling steps she ventures nigh 

Her Mother's gravestone, then starts back with fear 

She never reads her name, without a sigh ; 
Nor ever views her sod, without a tear. — 

What Form — the index of a virtuous mind — 

Springs, from the opening Tomb, with mimic life ? 

It is a polish'd Monument design'd, 

To laud the Woman, and bewail the wife. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 141 

The smile is flown, which beam'd as from the skies, 
Mute is the Tongue, whose eloquencfe was Truth ; 

Dim is the sweet expression of her eyes, 

And pluck'd the roses that adorn'd her Youth. 

She only ask'd one little pledge of love, 

To charm her spouse, and all his joys to crown ; 

The natural prayer was answer'd from above, 
But with the life she gave, she lost her own. 

She should have added, " Lord thy will be done :" 
Short-sighted Mortals know not what to chuse ; 

O let us pray, warn'd by the speaking stone, 
" Lord grant our wishes, or our prayers refuse. — 

The superficial stone describes the spot, 
Fix'd by a Neighbour for his last retreat, 

Whose name and character are not forgot, 
Altho' they wear away, beneath our feet. 

He occupied a middle sphere of life ; 

And ne'er was heard of fortune to complain, 
For he was wealthy in a faithful wife, 

Who dutifully watch 'd his bed of pain, 

And saw advance the Messengers of death 
Which were to send him to his destin'd rest ; 

And he seem'd sweetly to exhaust his breath, 
Clasp'd in her arms, or lying on her breast. 

She from his brow the dew-drops wip'd away ; 

She caught his accents broken with a sigh, 
That he no more could linger or delay ; 

She saw him close his eyes ; she heard him die. 



142 the shepherd's garland. 

Oft to his Tomb the widow'd Mourner goes, 

Refusing comfort and abhorring life ; 
Robb'd of her spouse who shar'd her joys and woes, 

" Return (she cries) to thy distracted wife. 

Snatch'd from my throbbing heart in bloom of Youth 
What joys shall now my lingering hours employ ? 

Who now shall talk of honour and of truth, 
To mould the mind and manners of my boy ? 

Ah! little ponder'd our incautious hearts, 

That thou, my love, wer't doom'd so soon to die, 

When we survey'd the Churchyard's various parts, 
To choose the spot, where we would, one day, lie." 

A voice is heard, " frown not at Heaven's behest, 
Nor start from duty, like a broken bow — 

Whatever God ordains, must be the best ; 
No mortal finds a Paradise below." 

" Warn'd by the voice, (exclaims the widow'd wife 
Whose fondness once connubial cares beguil'd) 

Henceforth, the joy and solace of my life 
Shall centre in my God, and in my child. 

When age consigns me to my Husband's doom, 
Mix'd with his dust my cold remains shall lie ; 

Perhaps we may together burst the tomb, 
And hand in hand be wafted thro' the sky." 

The contrast view in Asiatic states : 

No day-spring from above illumes the skies ; 

List to the tale the Traveller relates 

Of woman's trials, when her husband dies. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 143 

Have we not read, how Bramah's Priests beguile 
The Indian female, who has lost her Lord ? 

How they prepare the sacrificial pile, 
And instigate to rites, by God abhorr'd ? 

She joins the train — her eyes are fixed above ; 

The sacred band is wreath'd around her head ; 
She scatters votive offerings of her love ; 

Then lays her down a victim with the dead. 

Soon as the Brahmin's benediction ends, 

The nearest Relative the torch applies ; 
Shouts rend the air from her applauding Friends, 

And Trumpet's clangor drowns her agonies. — 

Just by those aged Elms, in his last bed, 
With his forefathers rests the hoary Swain ; 

In full maturity he bow'd his head, 
As to the sickle bends the ripen'd grain. 

He saw whole generations pass away, 

And states and families both rise and fall : 

Taught by experience he was heard to say, 
That care and sorrow were the lot of all. 

No more the tolling of the Village bell 
Will call him at the stated hour to pray ; 

No more with tears of rapture will he tell 

Of virtuous Friends, who grac'd his early day. 

He ne'er forsook his Maker in his Youth ; 

To Wisdom's goal he was intensely bent ; 
Abhorr'd all falsehood, and adher'd to Truth, 

And had the restropect of life well-spent. 



144 the shepherd's garland. 

His end was fragrant like the evening flower ; 

Calm as a River, when its course is run ; 
And when approached Life's terminating hour, 

His glory ripen'd like the setting Sun. — 

Upon an eminence which love endears, 

The reverend form of good Philemon lies ; 

How the old Rustics strained their eyes and ears, 
To catch his admonitions from the skies ! 

Saw ye the Priest, under some lowly roof 
Distribute blessings, or in loftier dome 

Heard him admonish, with his mild reproof, 
The Prodigal who left his Father's home ? 

Or rather fancy him, as oft he stood, 

While the poor Peasant sigh'd away his breath ; 

How from each eye he chas'd the tearful flood, 

And arm'd the Christian 'gainst the fears of death. 

The sick man's lips inaudibly repeat 

The word, " Amen," at each petition read ; 

The Benediction lifts him from his seat ; 
At name of Jesus, he bows down his head. 

Saw ye the Pastor, in the house of prayer, 

Smile, like the Sun, that dissipates the storm ? 

Saw ye his thin, but venerable hair 

Flow down his robes, and grace his Angel form ? 

With Christian fervency, he preach'd and pray'd ; 

Force and persuasion to his lips were given ; 
The purest truths his eloquence convey'd, 

But his life taught the surest way to Heaven. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 145 

Farewell, good Pastor, "till again we meet, 

Where parted Friends resume their mutual love ; 

Oft at thy tomb thy placid Ghost I greet ; 
Thy virtues cherish, and my own improve. — 

Descend the Vault, that opens to the right. 

Hark ! how the bolt, and grated door-way jar ; 
The walls present a memorable sight, 

With mouldering hatchment dress'd, and flags of war. 

Why do our eyes, bewilder'd, look behind, 
Or swim, suffus'd beneath the rising flood ? 

And why do apprehensions haunt the mind, 
Half suffocate the breath, or chill the blood ? 

We wake the sleeping spirits a9 we tread 

The hollow floor, whose mutterings seem to say, 

Why do the living mingle with the dead ? 
Intruding visitors, away, away ! 

We con th' inscriptive tablets that record 

The warrior's birth-place, battle, and reward ; 

We fit the gauntlets, and we grasp the sword, 
Which seem to mock the vanities they guard. 

View now the Tomb of the illustrious dead, 

Enrich'd with trophies, and with streamers, gay ; 

See ! how the Warrior-Knight reclines his head, 
And lifts his hands, in attitude to pray. 

Behold his marble form in armour drest, 

As when he pass'd inhospitable sands : 
Close hangs his sword, by which he aim'd to wrest 

The Saviour's Tomb, from Unbelievers' hands. 

L 



146 



THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 



The casque, that fenc'd his forehead in the war, 
Bears marks of pressure, in an act of strife. 

His corslet is indented with a scar, 

Mark'd by the stroke, that levell'd at his life. 

Long with crusading Comrades did he roam, 
In battle foremost, last in the retreat ; 

The proof that he returned, and died at home, 
Behold the grey-hound, couching at his feet. 

Go deeper still, and scrutinize, below, 

A monument of Mausolean pride, 
Where Sculpture deals in emblematic woe, 

And leaden coffins linger side by side. 

The embalmed corse, in subterraneous cell, 
Spurns intermixture with the common earth ; 

In stately loneliness, it loves to dwell, 
And claims distinction suited to its birth. 

Unwholesome vapours trickle from the wall ; 

Bats cling in fissures, and the Lizard creeps ; 
Arms, which had shone resplendent in the hall, 

Rust in the cloister, where the Baron sleeps. 

Back let me hasten to the upper light, 

From coffin, urn, and military vest, 
And when my sinking eyelids close in night, 

May a green mantle wrap my couch of rest. — 

Death is the fated lot of all that draw 
From corruptible man a short-liv'd birth : 

The Mother, who conceiv'd the Child, foresaw 
That beauty's form would mingle with the earth. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 147 

Our Nature, form'd at first, of fragile clay, 

Is doomed to dissolution in the dust, 
Yet how few look unto a future day, 

Enslaved by pride, or avarice, or lust ! 

But serious thoughts would banish from within, 
The boisterous passions that usurp the heart, 

And constant thoughts of death would check the sin, 
Ere it contracted venom on its dart. 

Oh ! who would dance upon a plank at sea, 
Lest he amid o'er whelming waves would sink ? 

Or who would meditate on villany, 

Whilst hanging o'er a precipice's brink ? 

Tread softly, Pilgrim. See ! the Tyrant takes 
The scythe, and grasps the hour-glass in his hand. 

He brandishes the weapon, and he shakes, 
To hurry out, the too reluctant sand. 

He has no eyes to view man's dying toil ; 

No hand of flesh to stretch for our relief ; 
He has no cheeks to blush at his own spoils ; 

No tongue for pity, and no heart for grief. 

How numerous are the avenues of death ! 

Steep is the pathway to the vale below. 
Various contingencies arrest man's breath ; 

Old age, war, famine, plagues, and earthquake's blow. 

Behold yon bending, solitary man, 

Over whose head a century hath roll'd : 
How chang'd men's manners since his life began ! 

Over each Friend the funeral bell has toll'd, 
l2 



140 the shepherd's garland. 

And soon will toll for him. Like leaves of trees, 
Which bud and swell, and ripen and decay, 

And then are dissipated by the breeze ; 
So generations rise, and pass away. — 

Heard ye the War-trump ? Saw ye to the field 
The young man haste, to mingle in the fight ? 

Soon does his form, inflexible to yield, 
Present a ghastly object to the sight. 

The ceremonials, which precede his corse, 

Awaken pity for his early doom : 
The Cornet's banner and unridden horse 

Close the procession to his foreign tomb. 

Short is the space for sorrow ; quit the Grave ; 

Fly, comrades, fly to the ensanguin'd plain ; 
The doubtful battle deepens ; on ye brave, 

To fight the living, and protect the slain. 

Why do Wars rage to desolate mankind? 

Ah ! why does Nation against Nation rise ? 
Oh ! why do rival Kingdoms feel inclin'd, 

To cause the Widow's, Maid's, and Orphan's cries 

From the rebellious passions of the heart 
The exterminating altercation springs, 

That from the Cottage door bids Peace depart, 
And stirs up warfare in the breasts of Kings. 

Men will be fierce as beasts, the world a den, 
'Till, from on high, the Spirit, like a Dove, 

Shall brooding sit upon the hearts of men, 
And nurture, to full growth, joy, peace, and love. 



THE WIEPHERD's GARLAND. 149 

Until the Spirit's advent, to release 

Man from the passions to which strife give birth, 
Discord will reign in families, and Peace 

Will prove a stranger to the Sons of Earth. — 

Next Famine seems my notice to engage, 

Which hath, in distant parts, its thousands slain : 

But chiefly it did exercise its rage 

In Salem's city, and contiguous plain. 

The prayer for death oft reach'd the Roman's ear ; 

Frequent he caught the supplicating word, 
That he would put to instant use his spear, 

Or end distresses with his friendly sword. 

Numbers into the holy Temple stole, 

And o'er their bodies sacred vestments spread : 

Base Friends, who came in pretext to condole, 
Ransack'd the living, and disrob'd the dead. 

Many, while carrying others out, expire : 

Many are buried 'ere had clos'd their breath : 

Some to the more sequester'd spots retire 

To wear out life, and court a lingering death. 

Oft' when the Mother has sunk down to rest, 
The babe would cling around her neck, and cry, 

And then would hang upon her shrunken breast, 
And after trials, find the fountain dry. 

The Pris'ner, by captivity distrest, 

Fed on his fellows, like a savage beast ; 
The suckling perish'd on his mother's breast, 

And furnish'd her with no unwelcome feast. 



150 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

The Miser open'd his long-hoarded store, 

And o'er the ground his glittering treasure spread : 

He view'd them, with an evil eye, no more, 
Because he cannot barter them for bread. 

How unfrequented now the spacious street, 
Where multitudes rejoicing us'd to stray ! 

Kindred no more in love each other greet, 
For groups of dead and dying choke the way. 

The plighted Maiden, tho' from hunger weak, 
Is not divested of her spousal fears — 

She meets her Lover, yet she cannot speak, 
But in the silent eloquence of tears. 

The High Priest hasten'd to dispatch the food 

Which messengers had brought him by command ; 

Quickly a stronger man beside him stood. 

And snatch'd the banquet from his trembling hand. 

The Raven-brood, whose parents us'd to feed 
A fainting Prophet, in the days of yore, 

Now from the deserts' intricacies speed, 

To stain their ravenous beaks with human gore. 

And is it any wonder, to the gate 

To crave for food the Jewish soldiers ran ? 

Or that their house should soon be desolate, 
And want should finish what the sword began ? 

Were not the impious rebels heard to cry, 
As Christ before the Roman Chieftain stood : 

" Give us Barabbas," " Jesus crucify." 

" On us, and on our Children be His blood:" 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 151 

Alas ! no tongue can adequately tell 

The desolation that devoured our Land, 
When thousands in the City daily fell, 

And in the suburhs very few could stand. 

Lurking in freighted merchandize, the pest 

Landed in Britain from an alien shore ; 
How soon the token swell'd upon the breast ! 

How soon infection's signet mark'd the door ! 

But 'ere the pestilence comnienc'd its rage, 

Dread signs and portents flashed across the sky, 

The awful visitation to presage, 

And shew the people that the plague was nigh. 

A comet wandered thro' the air — a shroud 

Was seen to wave — red meteors come and go ; 

A naming sword emerges from the cloud, 

With threats of vengeance on the crowds below. 

Old men rehearse their veritable dreams, 
And young men their horrific visions tell ; 

No sounds are audible, but sighs and screams, 
When the Magicians speak of Heaven and Hell. 

The fatal prodigies now quit the cloud, 

And in their stead realities appear ; 
Infection quickly spreads among the crowd, 

And thousands feel the taint both far and near. 

Houses without inhabitants are found ; 

Few feet are heard to pass along the streets ; 
The Priests pour out no prayer, the bells no sound ; 

All fly the town, or linger in retreats. 



152 the shepherd's garland. 

Mean time Death's scythe, with unrelenting sweep, 
Mows down the wither'd stalk, and blooming flower 

The enamour'd Bridegroom soon is seen to weep, 
And new-made wives possess the widow's dower. 

Thro' the thinn'd streets the infected man would run, 
Pursued by friends, who urged him not to roam ; 

Tho' chill'd by dew, or blister'd by the Sun, 
He knew no Friends, he recogniz'd no home. 

He quits the Town to wander in the fields, 
And seeks a refuge where the cattle lie ; 

But Solitude no other comfort yields 
Than to avoid society, and die. 

Fear of disease absorbs all other fears : 

The thought of death all other thoughts forestalls ; 
Unheeded flows the torrent of his tears ; 

He lives unpitied, unlamented falls. 

None could be found to dig his grave. No bier 
Conveys his corse to its sepulchral rest : 

No neighbour's eyelids drop the social tear ; 
No mind was troubled, and no soul distrest. 

The same inexorable fate awaits 

The inmates of the plague-infected bed : 

Unsparing Death knocks at, and shakes the gates 
Of Palaces, nor spares the lowly shed. 

Unhappy Patients linger thro' the day — 

Silence, unless they sigh, pervades the room : 

No Nurse attends to feed, no Priest to pray ; 
No fire, no taper serves to cheer the gloom. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 153 

The old man sinks, sore-stricken by the pest, 
Which spar'd nor youth, nor manly hardihood : 

The infant sickens at the Mother's breast, 
And sucks in poison, when it dreams of food. 

Greater the misery of the wife forlorn, 

When into labour prematurely thrown ; 
No cry was heard, to prove a child was born ; 

Or if it was, it perish/d in a groan. 

The Mother sinks dishearten'd by the blow, 

Sighs for her babe, and scarcely draws her breath — 

Her spirit hovers on the shades below, 
And longs to join her infant, in its death. 

No skill can check the progress of disease ; 

No art medicinal, no ardent prayer ; 
The plagues of Egypt rather grow ; than cease, 

Borne, thro' the Windows, on the wings of air. 

Alas ! no Aaron, bearing in his hand 

The naming censer with its odorous breath, 

Between the dead and living dar'd to stand, 
To awe disease, and stay the march of death. — 

In the deep caverns of sulphureous Earth, 
Ignited mists explode, and shake the World ; 

Hence desolating Earthquakes have their birth, 
And multitudes are, to destruction, hurl'd. 

Portents and signs, precede the dreaded crash — 

And on the ear a distant rumbling jars. 
The clouds explode, and forked Lightnings flash, 

And meteors mingle with the falling stars. 



154 the shepherd's garland. 

Now the Earth trembles, as if struck with blows, 

Harder and harder, by a mighty hand : 
The River feels the shock, and overflows 

Its customary boundary. The Land 

Reels to its centre. The darkening Heaven lowers : 
O'er Ocean and o'er Earth the Whirlwind sweeps ; 

A gulph absorbs Kings, Palaces, and Towers, 
And buries thousands in promiscuous heaps. 

The madden'd sea leaps backward from its course, 
And leaves its monsters struggling on the sand ; 

Soon it returns with a rebounding force, 
And like a deluge desolates the land. 

Assembling Priests their orisons repeat — 
Awaken'd children utter their complaints — 

Crowds to the Altar's sanctity retreat, 

And call for help on relicks, and on Saints. 

Thrice happy they, who under their own sun 
Breathe Liberty and Peace, and from above 

Seek blessedness, and when their race is run, 

Sleep in Death's chambers with the Friends they love. 

Not thus blest was the Friend of early youth, 
Whose Sun in continental realms declin'd — 

A man to me of kindness and of Truth, 

Whilst memory held its empire o'er his mind. 

Our Friendship grew in Academic bowers,* 
And ripen'd as the fruit of Summer's Sun ; 

Alas ! too swiftly flew Collegiate hours 

Which seem'd to end, when they had scarce begun. 

* Merton College, Oxford, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 155 

The Providence, that cast our lots in life, 

To me a rural residence had given, 
Where, free from bustle, and devoid of strife, 

I might devote my hours to thoughts of Heaven. 

Tho' of his Friend's sincerity possest, 

He soon forgot him when his Reason fled ; 

He went to foreign regions, seeking rest, 

And there alas ! was numbered with the dead. 

If thy freed Spirit can look down below 

Henry ! ! and on our notices attend, 
Accept the only gift I can bestow, 

The elegiac offering of a Friend. — 

I saw my Kinsman, writhing in his pain, 
As on his couch and sicken'd bed he lay ; 

How keen the wish, that I would come again, 
To cheer his spirit, ere it flew away ! 

Fruitless the wish. Oh ! how my heart was movM, 
I was not summon'd, ere expir'd his breath ; 

My only consolation, that he prov'd 
Faithful in life, affectionate in death. 

No more together shall we fondly stray, 

To linger on the margin of the rill ; 
No more together watch the setting ray 

Die to the view, behind the topmost hill. 

No more to me the Garden fruitage yields ; 

The bowers, we planned, no more I prune or dress ; 
The Lawn we travers'd, and contiguous fields, 

Are banish'd to a long forgetfulness. 



156 the shepherd's garland 

J saw him laid in the sepulchral vault : 
His ashes mingle with ancestral dust — 

Oh ! may his spirit, freed from every fault, 
Rise at the resurrection of the just. 

In the mean while, may his quiescent Soul 
Be never seen to wander and to weep ; 

And may no circumstance, past his controul, 
Mar the repose of his ethereal sleep. 

Soft may he lie, nor wake, till at the har 
Of final Judgment all mankind shall stand, 

When Righteousness shall flourish as a star, 
And have its orbit fix'd at God's right hand. 

And we may ponder in the Land of rest, 
On the regrets that graced his dying bed, 

And he will know, by one his name is blest, 
Who lov'd him living, and laments him dead. 

We may view Fields, with fresher verdure, grow ; 

And to God's hill, on plumes seraphic, soar ; 
See fountains glitter, and see rivers flow, 

And Luminaries cheer for evermore. — 

But chief for thee wakes memory (and my pen 

Records the thought) who bore me from the womb ; 

When far exceeding threescore years and ten, 
Thy Spirit visited my Father's tomb. 

Ah ! who can estimate a Mother's love, 

In helpless childhood and thro' giddy youth ? 

What human breast can such affection prove, 
In all its heavenly purity and truth ? 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 157 

The Mother joys in all her Children's joy ; 

Visits their couch to catch each sound of breath ; 
Should sickness seize, or pain her charge annoy, 

Her duty lasts till Health returns, or Death 

Dissolves the tie, and then she cons the book 

Of life, and oft' suspends it for a kiss : 
Then views the smiles which linger in the look, 

And yield a charm for grief, and sign of bliss. 

But thou didst not exclusively confide 

Thy kindnesses to Relatives, the poor 
Were fed. Strangers, who travel far and wide, 

Knock'd freely at thy hospitable door. 

I could not, with alternate hope and fears, 
Mark the pulsations of thy fluttering breath. 

I could not bathe thy shivering hands with tears, 
Nor join the slow procession, after death. 

The tidings reach'd me, on my couch of pain, 
That thou wast lingering on thy fatal bed ; 

Nor could I strength and healthfulness regain, 
To view thee dying, or to watch thee dead. 

Parent belov'd ! whene'er shall come my hour, 
To pass Death's gate and paths of life to tread ; 

May I, with thee, receive the call and power, 

To burst Death's bondage, and lift up my head. — 

Rank from Death's mandate no exemption brings ; 

The rude Despoiler abrogates all forms ; 
Statesmen and Warriors, Potentates and Kings 

Must die like others, and prove food for worms. 



158 the shepherd's garland. 

His dart unerring twice the Tyrant hurl'd, 

And rival Statesmen* crouch'd beneath the blow, 

Whose jealous Spirits split the upper world, 

And scattered firebrands, 'midst the crowds below. 

Now on sepulchral pillows they repose, 

Their fierce contentions flying with their breath ; 

No dream reminds them, they were lately foes ; 
Their ashes mingle, and embrace in death. 

Thus rival streamlets move on, side by side ; 

Brawl at each other, but each other miss ; 
Onward they speed, in parallels of pride, 

And confluent issue in the vast abyss. — 

A sadder tale is told in Claremont's bowers ; 

Dark is the sky, and lurid is the grove, 
Where late too swiftly sped the social hours, 

Sacred to Charity and nuptial love. 

Scarce had a Nation's hopes begun to blow, 
Portending fruit in Brunswick's royal line, 

Than sudden blasts laid expectation low, 
And Prince and people to one grief consign. 

How did her Royal Father's fancy trace 

A long descending offspring from her womb — 

View his own image pictur'd in her race, 
Unconscious of frustration by the tomb. 

O Leopold ! what pangs thy bosom rend ; 

Embalm'd thy Consort, and inurn'd thy son. 
O God ! the broken-hearted youth defend ; 

Assist his faultering prayer, " Thy will be done." 
* Mr. Pitt and Fox. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 159 

Must too the Sire, from whom she drew her breath, 

With dust ignoble cover'd e'er lie low ? 
Indulgent Heaven prolong his stay on earth, 

And since he cannot shun, delay the blow. 

Sorrows increase. The King was led to stand, 
And bless the Daughter whom he could not see : 

She plac'd a filial ring upon his hand, 

Mark'd with the motto, " Pray, remember me," 

If Heaven's all gracious mercy had delay'd 

Its visitation on his mental sight, 
How would our acclamations have repaid 

His cares by day, his agonies by night. 

He was forbade to see the settled storm, 
And view the period, when the Despot fell ; 

But he beholds his Daughter's angel form, 
And His dread face, that is invisible. 

Next mourn the Partner of the Monarch's bed, 
Whose virtues long, in cold oblivion lay. 

The veil flew off, when her free Spirit fled, 
And then it dazzled, with meridian day. 

Again bells toll, and Frederick yields his breath ; 

His Sun has set in unpropitious hour : 
He, who in war, had swell'd the ranks of death, 

Yields to the Tyrant's desolating power. 

Bury the faults of frail mortality, 

And yield the praises which to him belong, 

Who strove to keep the Reformation free, 
And snap asunder superstition's thong. 



160 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

What tho' the Bigot, in vindictive zeal, 

Mock'd at disease, and gloried in his pain ; 

Yet every British heart his death will feel, 
And pray our heavy loss may prove his gain. 

And Protestants shall fresh convictions draw 
From ruffian zeal that mutilates the dead, 

And with more ardour love their milder law, 
And Reformation shall the wider spread. 

And Frederick's spirit, from its kindred skies, 
Shall cheer the progress of the dawning day, 

And shall exult to see the sunshine rise 

On Erin's gloom, to which he led the way. 

Nor will we prove ungrateful to his fame, 
Tho' folly rails, and Casuists deride, 

But we will raise some trophy to his name, 
Who liv'd a Briton, and a Briton, died. 

The Bard will not indignantly refuse 

To mourn a loss of still more recent date — 

Rivals may rail, but surely shall the Muse 
Lament the Premier's* melancholy fate. 

The British heart can ne'er forget the day, 
When foremost he, congenial hards among, 

Oppos'd his force to democratic sway, 

And charm'd its rancour, by his magic song. 

What tho' ambition, with its maddening pride, 
Did on a sudden his free soul enthral ; 

Yet view the arrow festering in his side, 
And never smile o'er his untimely fall. 
* Mr. Canning. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 161 

Soon will his ashes mingle with his* dust, 

To whom a like fatality was given ; 
And at the resurrection of the just, 

May they hoth find a resting place in Heaven. 

And let his sudden end a beacon prove 
To warn us from the rocks ambition rears, 

And let it tend to moderate the love 

Of power, which lures into the vale of tears. 

I fain a debt of gratitude would pay, 

'Ere shades and clouds their darksome mantles spread ; 
Then let my vagrant Muse a moment stray 

To seek the absent, whilst it quits the dead. 

To noble neighbours and illustrious friends, t 

From me, all due remembrances belong ; 
To you, the Priest his benediction sends, 

Who blest his labours, and endur'd his song. 

While ye to continental realms repair 
To view the Courts and Palaces of Kings, 

May ye recruit your strength with balmier air, 
And purchase healthfulness, at mineral springs, 

And then revisit our delightful dells, 

And con the Pastor's unpretending rhymes, 

And list enraptur'd to the nuptial bells, 

And catch devotion, from the village chimes ; 

Then go about to bless the neighbourhood ; 

To cheer the sick, and solace the distrest, 
And by activity in doing good, 

Ensure your passage to the land of rest. — 

* Mr. Pitt. t The Marquis and Marchioness of Bath, 

m 



162 the shepherd's garland. 

Our animated clay must yield its breath ; 

Plants of the sunshine, we must feel the shade ; 
Laid prostrate by the unsparing hand of death, 

Our strength must wither, and our beauty fade. 

But tombs cannot detain us from the skies ; 

Our bodies with the earth will wage a strife, 
And like the grain that perishes and dies, 

Will spring from burial into ten-fold life. 

See, as declines the vegetable sap, 

The foliage fade and hover in the sky ; 

Soon will it multiply upon the lap 

Of mother earth, and flowers and plants will die. 

But vernal sunshine will resume its power, 
And charmed life again be spread around : 

What soul, but blesses the congenial hour, 

When plants and flowers revive to deck the ground? 

Shall then no sunbeam penetrate the tomb, 

And chase sepulchral darkness from the earth ? 

Shall human offspring, lodg'd in Nature's womb, 
Struggle for life, and ne'er effect their birth ? 

When trumps shall usher in eternal day, 
The frame restor'd shall start to life again, 

Burst thro' the barrier of incumbent clay, 
Ransom'd from sin, and purified from pain. 

How shall we wonder, when the soul ascends 
From murky regions and funereal night, 

To find on duty, not our weeping friends, 
But heavenly guides and messengers of light, 



THE SHEPHERD^ GARLAND. 163 

To cheer our courses to empyreal day. 

Wide fly the portals, and the guarded door 
Unfolds in light, then obvious is the way 

To joys, at God's right hand, for evermore. 

And as the disencumber'd spirits fly, 

A mandate to the angelic choir is given, 
To cheer their progress to the upper sky, 

And celebrate their entrance into Heaven. 

They will the Saints and Patriarchs behold, 
Who, in the fear of God, had liv'd and died, 

And gaze upon Messiah, who was sold, 

And smitten, scoff'd at, scourg'd and crucified. — 

Thus sat I musing on the funeral stone, 

' Till the last beam had glimmer'd in the west, 

Memorial that a day of life is gone, 
Yielding a symbol of eternal rest. 

We should pursue our journey, like the Sun, 
Who, thro* all weathers, traverses the skies ; 

We shall, like him, whene'er our course is run, 
Depart in splendour, and in glory rise. 

In the mean season, as the orb of night 

Borrows its lustre from retiring day ; 
So when we die, we lend our friends a light, 

To cheer their course and track the heavenly way. — 

My Muse could lengthen, to the midnight hour, 
Such holy themes, to which the tombs give birth, 

Did not an admonition from the tower, 

As the clock strikes, recal my thoughts to earth. 
m 2 



164 



THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. 



Rous'd from reflection, as the vapours throw, 
Around the Moon, their shadows, I depart ; 

Acknowledging, that sadness, on the brow, 
Refines the judgment, and improves the heart. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 165 



NEW VERSION OF PSALMS 



PSALM I. 



Blest is the Man, that takes delight 
In all the statutes of the Lord, 

And consecrates the day and night 
To His most true, and holy word. 

He shall be like the Tree that grows 
In vigour, by the water's side, 

Fed by the current as it flows 
In full, but not o'erflowing tide. 

Its foliage quivers o'er the stream, 
Fann'd by the breezes, and its root 

Protrudes its branches to the beam 
That ripens blossoms into fruit. 

Not so the man, that proudly walks, 
And o'er his fellows lifts his horn ; 

Not so the man, who vainly talks, 

And points his jests and words of scorn ; 



166 the shepherd's garland. 

Not so the man, who takes in hand 
Injustice, or that proves unkind : 

He shall be scattered o'er the land, 
Like chaff, or dust, before the wind. 



PSALM II. 

Why do the Heathen nations rage 

And into vainest errors run ? 
Rulers and Kings in leagues engage, 

Against Jehovah and his Son : 

" Our duty we will lay aside, 

And snap the cords that bind our love." 
Soon will the Lord abase their pride, 

And frown upon them from above. 

Yet shall my King, on Sion's hill, 

Assume His delegated sway ; 
The laws intent He shall fulfil ; 

The Son, whom I begot this day. 

The Heathen nations all around 
Shall be entrusted to thy care ; 

Their impious rites Thou shalt confound, 
If thou wilt ask it in thy prayer. 

Be wise, ye Kings, both far and near ; 

Ye Judges, list to wisdom's voice ; 
Serve ye the Lord, with holy fear, 

And reverentially rejoice. 



THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 167 

Salute the Son, lest wrath return 

And render void His saving word — 
If once his indignation burn, 

Fly to the mercy of the Lord. 



PSALM III. 

Lord ! they that trouble me, increase ; 

E'en friends, from lurking places, rise, 
To wound my name, to vex my peace, 

And persecute, like enemies. 

Tho' many say unto my soul, 

"God's spirit is for ever fled ;" 
Do Thou their lying lips controul, 

And cheer my heart, and lift my head. 

I pray'd for aid against my foes ; 

God heard each supplicating word. 
I laid me down, and slept, and rose. 

Supported by Thy mercy, Lord. 

Ten thousand men may be arrayed, 

To laugh and sneer, to mock and frown, 

But I will never be afraid : 

Thou, Lord, in wrath, shalt cast them down. 

The Lord directs the good man's way, 
And spreads His blessing o'er the just, 

Whilst wretched men, who go astray ■> 
Shall fall and perish in the dust. 



168 the shepherd's GARLAND- 



PSALM IV. 

Hear me, O God, whene'er I pray, 
And with my griefs condole ; 

Thy rod Thou oft' hast turn'd away, 
Which would have scourg'd my soul. 

How long, blasphemers, from my sight, 

Can ye your malice hide ? 
How long in vanity delight, 

And falsehood add to pride ? 

The Lord selects the godly man 

For His especial care ; 
Whene'er unto the Lord I ran, 

He listened to my prayer. 

Hold close communion with thy heart ; 

Resolve to sin no more ; 
Enter into thy room apart, 

And close thy chamber door. 

Whilst solemn silence reigneth there, 

Thy harden'd bosom rend, 
Offer the sacrifice of prayer, 

And on the Lord depend. 

Many there be, that mock and jeer 
" Ah ! who will shew us good ?" 

God's smile will more delight and cheer, 
Than oil, or wine, or food, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 169 

When I lie down upon my bed 

With weariness opprest, 
Thou, Lord, shalt guard my sleeping head, 

And sanctify my rest. 



PSALM V. 

Ponder my thoughts and words, O Lord, 

And never from me stray ; 
O hear my voice, my King, my God, 

Whene'er, to Thee, I pray. 

My voice shall, with the early beam, 

Salute thy throne of grace, 
And my enraptur'd eyes shall look 

On Thy abiding place. 

Thou, Lord, in human wickedness, 

Dost scorn to take delight; 
Sinners can never with Thee dwell, 

Nor fools stand in Thy sight. 

Thou, Lord, hast hated vanity 

Ere since the world began — 
Blood-guiltiness Thou dost abhor, 

And the deceitful man. 

But when I pray, within Thy house, 
Thou, gracious Lord, wilt hear, 

And in Thy temple I will kneel 
With love, and holv fear. 



170 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

Conduct my feet in righteousness 

And save me from disgrace 
Which foes would bring, and make Thy way 

Direct before my face. 

Destroy mine enemies O God, 

In their assembled throng, 
To whom the falsest enmities 

And envious tongues belong. 

But let my righteous friends rejoice, 
Who put their trust in Thee ; 

Give them Thy blessing, and secure 
Their souls' tranquillity. 



PSALM VI. 

O Lord ! rebuke me not in wrath, 

Nor disregard my moans : 
Have mercy, for my strength declines, 

And pains consume my bones. 

Not only my external frame 
Do Thou, from harm controul, 

But let thy mercy reach within, 
And satisfy my soul. 

How long, O Lord, ere Thou forego 
Thy wrath, and give command 

For pains and sorrows to subside ? 
I tremble in Thy hand 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 171 

No memory of our love remains 

When we resign our breath ; 
No hymn of gratitude resounds 

Amidst the vaults of death. 

The frequent groanings of my soul, 

Extorted by my fears, 
Weary my friends, and every night, 

I wash my couch with tears. 

The bloom has faded on my cheek 

For loss of my repose, 
And all my former vigour flies, 

Exhausted by my foes. 

Depart, for ever, from my heart, 

Ye vain and idle fears, 
For God in Heaven has kindly heard 

The language of my tears. 

He too hath heard my secret prayer 

When I invok'd His name — 
But He will vex my secret foes, 

And bring them all to shame. 



PSALM VH. 

In Thee, Lord, will I confide ; 
Save me from enmity and pride, 
Lest foes their indignation pour, 
And like a ravening beast devour. 



172 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

If I have broken Thy command, 
Or taken wicked things in hand ; 
Or should it e'er be understood, 
That I have paid men ill for good ; 

Then let my friends usurp controul 
Over my false, perfidious soul ; 
Sever my portion from the just, 
And lay mine honour in the dust. 

Stand up, O Lord, in wrath arise, 
Because of all mine enemies ; 
Then shall my friends cease to complain ; 
Therefore lift up Thyself again. 

The Lord shall judge my foes around, 
And all ungodly men confound ; 
Save me, O Lord, in Thee I trust, 
And guide the footsteps of the just. 

The Lord does every action scan 
By looking to the inward man ; 
The Lord to me does help impart, 
Who saves them that are true of heart. 

The righteous Lord will guilt repay, 
Yet He is anger'd every day — 
His sword is drawn, His bow is bent 
Against the sinner's battlement. 

He hatcheth mischief in his mind — 
His heart is unto sin inclined. 
Sorrow he hath conceiv'd within, 
Sorrow, the fruit of every sin. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 173 

The snares, which he for others laid, 
His own incautious feet betrayM ; 
His wickedness is round him spread ; 
His mischief falls on his own head. 

I will the Lord Almighty praise 

And thank Him for His righteous ways, 

And I will look unto the sky, 

And laud the name of God most high. 



PSALM VIII. 

Lord ! when I contemplate the skies, 

To mark the sun, at noon ; 
Or in the night direct my eyes 

To planets, stars, and moon. 

My soul o'erpower'd by the view 

And grandeur of the plan, 
Can scarce believe the record true, 

That Thou regardest man. 

Thou madest him of less degree 
Than angels round thy throne, 

To give him immortality 

And make Thy glory known. 

To Him, Thou didst entrust the power 

O'er all Thy works to reign ; 
O'er flocks that crop the mountain flower, 

And herds, that browse the plain. 



174 THE SHEPHERD^ GARLAND. 

The birds, that thro' the ether tower, 
Or perch upon the spray, 

Confess Thy delegated power 
And his vice-regal sway. 

The inmates of the deep proclaim 
That rule to man was given, 

O Lord ! how glorious is Thy name, 
In ocean, earth, and heaven. 



PSALM XI. 

O God ! Thy love is ever nigh : 

My trust is in Thee still ; 
How say ye then my soul shall fly, 

Like birds unto the hill ? 

Ungodly people bend their bows 
And from their quivers draw 

Arrows, to smite the peace of those, 
Who love and keep Thy law. 

Of righteousness the good man tells 
When earths strong holds are riven ; 

The Lord, in His own Temple, dwells ; 
His throne is fix'd in heaven. 

The holy men, who love God's sight, 

With blessings He invests, 
While those, whom wicked deeds delight, 

His righteous soul detests. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 175 

The Lord consigns the bad and bold 

To pains beneath the dust, 
While His approving smiles behold 

The actions of the just. 



PSALM XII. 

Help me, O Lord, for godly men 

To other realms are fled ; 
Few are the faithful I can ken ; 

They slumber with the dead. 
Now flattering lips vain thoughts impart, 
Which spring from a still vainer heart. 

God shall root out and cast away 

The lips that mock and rail, 
And silence all the tongues that say, 

" With tongues we will prevail ; 
Our mouths shall have the fullest play ; 
Their speech shall fail, and die away." 

To solace the afflicted soul 

And hush the crying poor, 
I will their tyrant's lips controul, 

And close their opening door ; 
And I will succour the distrest 
And help the weary man to rest. 

The words of God, which speak His mind, 

And holy men inspire, 
Are pure as gold from earth refin'd, 

And seven times prov'd by fire. 
The ungodly walk on every side 

And crush the humble by their pride. 



176 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

PSALM XIII. 

How long, wilt Thou, from me depart, 
O Lord ! and hide Thy face? 

How long shall I be vex'd at heart ? 
How long incur disgrace ? 

Pardon and hear, O Lord my God, 

My supplicating breath ; 
Lighten mine eyes, avert the rod, 

Lest I should sleep in death ; 

Or lest mine enemies should cry, 
" We conquer'd in the fight." 

If prostrate in the dust I lie, 
My foes will take delight. 

But my firm trust is in Thy word : 
My heart o'erflows with joy — 

Psalms shall be sung unto the Lord, 
And all my soul employ. 



PSALM XIV. 

When men become corrupt 
And dread the vengeful rod, 

Their foolish hearts deny 
The attributes of God. 

Upon the sons of men 

God looked down from Heaven, 
To see if they to faith 

And righteous thoughts were given. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 177 

But all the sons of men 

Have err'd and gone astray ; 
There are none that do good ; 

None walk in wisdom's way. 

Their throats resemble graves 

Which yawn but to devour ; 
Their tongues distil deceit, 

Their lips asps' venom pour. 

Their mouths vent lies and oaths, 

In a revengeful mood ; 
Their nimble feet move on, 

To shed the good man's blood. 

Do they not know these sins 

Offend against God's word ? 
Devouring men like bread, 

They call not on the Lord. 

In terror were they brought, 

Where was no cause of fears ; 
But God from righteous men, 

Shall banish dread and tears. 

But as for you, ye mock'd 

The poor man's righteous word, 
Because he call'd on God, 

And trusted in the Lord. 

Who shall from Sion give 

Salvation to the law ? 
Who shall the stubborn Jews 

To truth and reason draw ? 

N 



178 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

When God shall set them free, 
They shall no more be sad — 

Jacob shall sing for joy, 
And Israel shall be glad. 



PSALM XV. 

Lord ! who shall in Thy temple dwell, 
And never from Thy hill depart ? 

The man that doeth what is right, 
And speaketh simply from the heart. 

He that hath done no neighbour wrong, 
By stratagem, by deed, or word — 

Nor seeks to aggrandize himself, 

But honours them that fear the Lord. 

He too, who succours the distrest, 
And will not scruple to impart 

The free, but inconvenient loan, 

To ease the mind, and cheer the heart. 

He, who no usury contracts, 
But answers ev'ry needful call, 

Nor sells the innocent for bribes ; — 
This righteous man shall never fall. 



PSALM XVIII. v. 7. 

The globe unto its centre shook, 
When God in wrath look'd down ; 

The mountains mov'd, and every brook 
And river felt His frown. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 179 

Smoke from His presence fum'd around ; 

Flames from His mouth were driven ; 
Combustion spread upon the ground, 

And sparkled up to Heaven. 

The heavens He bow'd, and then came down 

From His august retreat ; 
Upon His head He wore a crown, 

And darkness veiPd His feet. 

A host of winged cherubim 

His fiery chariot drew ; 
The moon retired, the stars were dim, 

As on the blast He flew. 

Darkness He made His secret place, 

Darkness the most profound ; 
Waters and clouds concealed His face, 

And spread their mist around. 

But as His chariot onward sped, 

His presence cast a light, 
And clouds remov'd, and waters fled, 

In terror at the sight. 

The Lord then thunder'd from on high, 

Guilt trembles, Saints admire ; 
Portents and signs flare thro' the sky ; 

Hail-stones and coals of fire. 



n 2 



180 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 



PSALM XVIII. v. 27. 

The Power, that rules above the cloud 
Shall lift the low, and crush the proud ; 
Shall cause my lamp to burn by night, 
And turn my darkness into light. 

Aided by Thee, I shall renew 
My wasted strength, and shall subdue 
An host of men, and make them fall ; 
I, with Thy help, shall leap the wall. 

God's way is undefiTd with mire ; 

His word is purified by fire — 

He vindicates the good man's cause, 

Who trusts His power, and keeps His laws. 

Who, but the Lord can break the rod ? 
Or who hath strength, except our God ? 
He guideth me with strength for war, 
And guides to peace the victor's car. 

Swift as the hart, pursued by hound, 
I run, and rest on higher ground ; 
I fight my foes, until they kneel ; 
My hands shall break a bow of steel. 

My foe shall lift his voice, and cry, 
But he shall feel no succour nigh ; 
Yea, he shall cry unto the Lord, 
But He shall disregard each word. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 181 

Jehovah reigns (blest be His name) 
He brought mine enemies to shame. 
He sav'd me from the cruel foe ; 
He rais'd me up, and laid him low. 

He to my instant succour ran, 

And rid me from the wicked man ; 

I therefore will extol His fame, 

And midst the Gentiles praise His name. 



PSALM XIX. 

God's glory shines in Heaven above ; 
The firmament displays His love — 
When sunbeams vanish from the view 
The orbs of night their lamps renew. 

They cannot conversations hold ; 
Still by themselves their tale is told — 
Their sound is heard in every land, 
That by God's power, they move or stand. 

Again, God's handy-work appears, 
For in the centre of the spheres 
He pitch'd a tent, to shroud the sun, 
Whence he escapes his race to run, 

As the youth starts to meet the maid 
In bridal ornaments array'd ; 
Or as from ambush, or repose, 
The Giant springs upon his foes. 



182 the shepherd's garland. 



PSALM XX. 

The Lord shall hear thee in thy grief, 
And Jacob's God shall yield relief, 
And from His sanctuary bring 
Succour, to His anointed King. 

Thy offerings He shall call to mind ; 
Thy sacrifice of every kind — 
He too shall regulate thy will, 
And every virtuous wish fulfil. 

We, too, thy servants shall rejoice ; 
In Thy salvation lift our voice, 
And spread Thy glory thro' the air ; — 
My soul ! the Lord will hear Thy pray'r. 

At length assuredly I know 
That God from Heaven will hear my woe, 
And help me with His own right hand, 
Which all my foes shall understand. 

Some in their charioteers confide, 
And some on fleetest horses ride, 
But we will call to mind the Lord, 
And trust in His most holy word. 

They are brought down, and falPn low ; 
Their strength is like a broken bow, 
But unto us support is given ; — 
Save Lord, and hear us, King of Heaven ! 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 183 



PSALM XXI. 

The King, O Lord, Thy strength admires, 
And boasts of Thy redeeming care ; 

Thou hast fulfilled his heart's desires, 
And bent Thine ear unto His prayer. 

Thy blessing shall precede his ways, 
And a gold crown shall grace his head ; 

And Thou shalt grant him length of days, 
And give him life, when he is dead. 

Why, shall a mortal King reside, 

When he is lost to earth, in Heaven ? 

Because he did in God confide ; 
So will felicity be given, 

The enemies, that hate Thy name, 

Shall smart, and crouch beneath Thy hands ; 
Thy wrath shall burn them, as a flame ; 

They shall consume, as fiery brands. 

Their seed shalt Thou root out of earth, 
In vengeance for their cherish'd sin — 

They cannot bring their crimes to birth, 
Which they conceive their hearts within. 

Then shall the foe be put to flight 
Whose arrows threaten to devour. 

Lord ! be Thou aggrandiz'd, in might, 
So will we sing, and praise Thy power. 



184 the shepherd's garland. 



PSALM XXIII. 

The shepherd shall my footsteps lead 
From barren rock to fruitful mead ; 
Under His guidance I shall go 
Where rills of consolation flow : 
He shall convert my erring soul, 
And all my wayward thoughts controul. 
Yea, when I faint, or pant for breath, 
Amidst the shadowy vale of death, 
My heart shall dread no evil near ; 
Thy rod and staff shall banish fear. 

Upon the board, I shall be fed, 

Which Thou, before my foes, hast spread. 

My head, with shower'd oil shall glow, 

And my full cup shall overflow : 

But Thy rich mercies shall extend 

'Till days shall close, and life shall end ; 

Of loving-kindness I will tell, 

And 'midst Thy courts for ever dwell. 



PSALM XXIV. 

What man, with plumes of cherubim, 
Shall speed his flight to Heaven ? 

To whom, shall everlasting hills 
And endless rest be given ? 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 185 

To him that purines his heart, 

And does no neighbour wrong, 
And loves humility — to him 

The blessing shall belong. 

Lift up your heads, ye sacred gates, 

And all your bars unclose, 
For lo ! the King of glory comes, 

To battle with His foes. 

Who is the glorious Potentate 

That marcheth from afar ? 
It is the strong and mighty Lord, 

Omnipotent in war. 

Eternal portals lift your heads ! 

Ye doors admit the light ! 
For lo ! the King of glory comes, 

To conquer in the fight. 

Who is the great, and mighty Lord, 

The champion in the war ? 
Lo ! see He comes, upborne by clouds, 

In His victorious car. 



PSALM XXV If. 

The Lord illumines all my ways, 

No dark designs I fear, 
No perils shall cut short my days ; 

No grief extort a tear. 



186 the shepherd's garland. 

When wicked foes imagined strife 
Which no device could quell, 

And ponder'd how to take my life, 
They stumbl'd and they fell. 

Tho' hostile forces from afar 
Should multiply around, 

And threat exterminating war, 
I shall maintain my ground. 

One thing of God do I require, 
That as I love Him well, 

I may behold my heart's desire, 
And in His temple dwell. 

At night, (when specious men betray 
And scorners sneer and mock) 

His care shall shroud me, and by day 
Shall set me on a rock. 

My state in life He shall adjust, 

And elevate my seat ! 
While enemies shall lick the dust, 

And crouch beneath my feet. 

Then shall the everlasting King 

For ever be ador'd, 
And in His temple I will sing 

The praises of the Lord. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 187 

PSALM XXIX. 

Bring, O ye mighty, to the Lord, 

Lamhs for the altars flame, 
And then, ye worshippers, afford 

Due honour to His name. 

The Lord commands, and waves pass hy ; 

Again at His command, 
The thunder rumbles thro' the sky, 

And agitates the land. 

The cedars feel the voice of ,God 

While hail and thunder last, 
And mountains, when the cedars nod, 

Are shaken by the blast. 

The thunderings of the Lord divide 

The lightning's forked flash : 
The deserts quake on every side, 

As crash succeeds to crash. 

The Lord is on His throne. At length 

The storm, and hailstones cease ; 
The Lord shall give His people strength ; 

The Lord shall give them peace. 



PSALM XXX. 

Lord ! I will magnify Thy name — 

When combinations rose 
To do me wrong, to bring me shame, 

I triumph'd o'er my foes 



188 the shepherd's garland. 

I clasp'd my hands, I bent my knee, 

In the distressful hour ; 
Thy outstrecb/d arm did set me free — 

I vanquish'd by Thy power. 

Unto the Lord loud anthems sing ; 

Ye saints your voices raise ; 
And wake each instrumental string, 

To celebrate His praise. 

Sing to the Lord, ye Saints of light, 
Let psalms your souls employ : 

Our sorrow lasts but for the night ; 
The morrow breaks in joy. 

Lord ! hear my prayer in future woes, 

And succour my distress ; 
Aid me again to fight my foes, 

With truth and stedfastness. 

Thou hast before abas'd their pride 
And looks, that tower'd above ; 

My sackcloth Thou hast turned aside, 
And girt me round with love. 

Therefore shall godly men rehearse 

Thy everlasting ways : 
Lord ! I will praise Thee with my verse, 

And thank Thee, all my days. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 189 



PSALM XXXV. 

Plead Thou my cause, O gracious Lord, 

When foes invade my right ; 
And when they menace with the sword, 

Do Thou maintain the fight. 

The buckler bring, and then the shield, 

My person to defend ; 
Oppose them boldly in the field, 

Who dare with me contend. 

Bring forth the dart, and hurl the spear ; 

Stop the pursuer's way : 
O tell me, Thou art ever near ; 

That I shall win the day. 

Bring all Thine enemies to shame ; 

Their various wiles controul ; 
And deal confusion on each name, 

That persecutes my soul. 

Make them disperse, like clouds of dust, 

Before the eddying wind, 
Whilst angels follow, fierce as just, 

To scourge them from behind. 

May thickest darkness veil their sight 
And paths deceive their feet, 

Whilst the avenging sons of light 
O'ercome them in retreat. 



190 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

They spread abroad their secret net 
And dug a pit with care ; 

may the traps and pits they set, 
Their heedless steps ensnare. 

Be joyful, O my ransom'd heart ; 

My soul in God rejoice, 
Who did His timely aid impart, 

And now lifts up my voice. 

All my deliver'd bones shall say, 
et Lord ! who is like to Thee, 

For succour in the deadly fray ; 
For help to victory." 

Perfidious witnesses arose, 

And challeng'd me with guile ? 

Good for their ill I paid my foes ; 
Their malice with a smile. 

When on their beds they sickening lay, 
1 sooth'd each troubled breast ; 

My blessing could not with them stay, 
But flew back to its rest. 

When they were pierc'd with sorrow's dart. 
My peace and comfort fled ; 

1 felt such anguish at my heart, 
As for a Mother dead. 

But when my own affliction came, 
They join'd the jeering crowd ; 

They spread reproaches o'er my name, 
And spake their joy aloud. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 191 

Lord ! look down from Thy throne in Heaven ; 

Secure me from the blow ; 
So shall my gratitude be given, 

Within thy courts below. 

Oh ! never let mine enemies, 

Exult, who break Thy laws ; 
Nor wink, with mockery in their eyes, 

Who hate without a cause. 

And why ? they commune not for peace, 

But speculate in strife ; 
Tow'rds them their railings never cease, 

Who lead a quiet life. 

With taunting words they mock'd my soul 

And cried " fie on thee, fie," 
Oh ! let Thy voice their thoughts controul, 

And be Thou ever nigh. 

Awake, and vindicate Thy laws, 

And gird me with Thy sword ; 
Rise and avenge my righteous cause, 

My Judge, my God, my Lord. 

Let every one be put to flight, 

That smiles upon my woes ; 
Let infamy on all alight, 

Who boast themselves my foes. 

But let my faithful friends rejoice, 

Who prize my righteous ways ; 
To Thee, Lord, will I lift my voice, 

And thank Thee all my days. 



192 the shepherd's GARLAND. 



PSALM XXXIX. 

J chain'd my lips and tongue, 
That words should not depart ; 

My soul with grief was wrung, 
When silence lock'd my heart. 

My musing spirit burn'd ; 

I felt the kindling fire, 
My power of speech returned, 

And shew'd my heart's desire. 

Lord ! warn me of the blow 
That shall arrest my breath ; 

Unfold, that I may know 
The moment of my death. 

Thou hast made all my ways 
No longer than a span ; 

Contrasted with Thy days, 
What is the age of man ? 

As tho' bound with a spell, 
Man frets himself in vain ; 

He hoards, but cannot tell 

What heir shall spend his gain. 

In Thee will I confide, 

O Lord, till life shall close : 
Save me from sin, and pride 

Of my insulting foes. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 193 

My tongue is kept at bay ; 

Grief comes at Thy command ; 

take Thy plague away ; 
1 perish by Thy hand. 

When Thou dost scourge for sin, 

Man's beauty fades away ; 
Remorse, like moth within, 

Accelerates decay. 

Disperse, O Lord, my fears, 

And listen to my prayer ; 
Look down upon my tears, 

And save me from despair. 

1 sojourn here below, 

And am as sires have been ; 
O spare me ere I go, 
And never more be seen. 



PSALM XLI. 

Blest is the man, who deems the poor, 

Not undeserving his regard ; 
Who beckons strangers to his door, 

And gains from Heaven the like reward 

The Lord shall fortify his life, 

And earthly blessings round him shower ; 
When foes shall sneer, or kindle strife, 

His arm shall shield him from their power, 
o 



194 the shepherd's garland. 

When health shall from his frame depart, 
And sickness drive him to his bed ; 

The Lord shall re-assure his heart, 
Delight his soul, and lift his head. 

Deliver'd from the fears of death, 

And pangs, which threaten'd to destroy ; 

He will attune his latest breath, 
To everlasting songs of joy. 



PSALM LV. 

Lord, my God, to me return, 
And solace my despair ; 

Take heed unto me, how I mourn 
And wander in my prayer. 

Ungodly men approach me fast, 
On evil schemes intent ; 

Their enmities for ever last ; 
Their bow is ever bent. 

Foreboding fears alarm my mind 
Which I can never brave ; 

No refuge can I hope to find 
From grief, but in the Grave. 

Had I the wings of turtle dove 
When foes my peace molest, 

1 would from persecution rove, 

And seek a home of rest. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 195 

Far in the desert would I fly 

And sip the mountain wave, 
And spend the day, beneath the sky, 

The night, within the cave. 

It is no foe, beneath whose pride 

And scornful looks I bend ; 
It was in truth my early guide — 

Mine own familiar friend. 

Once did we live apart from strife ; 

We dwelt in love, and trod 
Together in the path of life, 

And to the house of God. 

Let death upon them come apace ; 

Its gates upon them close ; 
For sin is in the dwelling place 

And haunts, of all my foes. 

But as for me, at morn, and eve, 

And noon-day, will I pray 
To God, who never will deceive, 

Nor ever from me stray. 



PSALM LVII. 

O God ! preserve me from my foes ; 

My trust in Thee shall ever last : 
Under Thy wings will I repose, 

Until their tyranny be past 
o2 



196 the shepherd's garland. 

On God, most Highest, will I call, 

Who shall my righteous cause perform ; 

Before the Mast I shall not fall ; 

His hand shall guide me thro' the storm. 

Jn truth and mercy God will rise, 
When darts against my peace are hurl'd ; 

Set up Thyself above the skies ; 

Thy glory, Lord ! above the world. 

They spread a net to catch my feet, 
And my soul's freedom to enthral ; 

Their pit serv'd me for a retreat ; 

To them a snare, that they might fall. 

My heart, O God ! my heart is fix'd ; 

I will exalt my voice and sing ; 
Sounds instrumental shall be mix'd 

With vocal praise, to hail Thee King. 

Mercy from Heaven derives its birth, 
And Truth unto the clouds is given, 

Set up thyself above the earth, 

And shine beyond the stars of Heaven. 



PSALM LXI. 

Hear my complaining, O my God, 
Give heed unto my prayer, 

When from the earth to Thee I call, 
To save me from despair. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 197 

Oh ! set me up upon the rock 

That overlooks the deep, 
Where I may watch the billows roll, 

And then retire to sleep. 

The rock yields shadow from the heat 

And covert from the shower, 
And against all oppressing foes, 

A fortress and a tower. 

And in Thy temple I will dwell 

Where reigns the King of Kings, 
And my retreat from harm shall be 

The shadow of Thy wings. 

To Thee, Lord, I have offer'd prayers, 

And Thou hast heard the same ; 
And Thou hast given an heritage 

To those, that fear Thy name. 



PSALM LXXIX. 

The foe, O God, of Jacob's race 
Within the sacred fence is found ; 

He has profan'd Thy dwelling-place, 
And levell'd Salem with the ground. 

The flesh of Saints, whom death releast, 
To prowling beasts of prey are given, 

And mangled bodies serve to feast 

The beasts of earth, and birds of Heaven. 



198 the shepherd's garland. 

On every side Thy servants blood 
Of every age and sex was shed, 

And ran in currents like a flood — 
No ceremonials grac'd the dead. 

We are become the foe's by-word, 

Who mock and scorn us, in their turn : 

How long wilt Thou be angry, Lord? 
How long Thy indignation burn ? 

Lord ! let Thy vengeance pass away, 
And to the foe transfer the rod, 

Who never lifts his hands to pray, 
And never calls on Jacob's God. 

Lord ! free us from our guilt and shame, 
And succour us in every grief, 

And, for Thy great and glorious name 
Vouchsafe to grant us quick relief. 

Let vengeance overtake the band 
Who, in our slaughter, took delight — 

Do Thou unclasp Thy folded hand, 
And smite the heathen in Thy sight. 

O cheer the prisoner's lonely hour 
And listen to each moan and sigh, 

And by the greatness of Thy power, 
Save those, that are condemned to die. 

To Thee, who sav'd us from the foe, 
And perils that beset our ways,j 

The stream of gratitude shall flow 
In copious channels, all our days. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 199 

PSALM LXXX. 

The Lord drove out the heathen host, 
And brought a vine from Egypt's coast, 
And planted it in fruitful sand, 
Where it took root, and filFd the land. 

The mingling boughs cool arbours made ; 
The hills were cover'd with the shade ; 
She stretch'd her branches to the sea, 
And flourish'd like the cedar tree. 

Why hast Thou broken down the mound. 
Which fenc'd the vineyard all around ? 
The wild boar wastes it from the wood, 
And beasts devour it for their food. 

Return, O Lord, behold the vine 
Trampled by beasts, and torn by swine. 
Shepherd of Israel ! save the land 
Once fenc'd, and planted by Thy hand. 



PSALM LXXXVIII. 

O God, my Saviour, unto Thee, 
I cried both night and day, 

Yield me Thy presence graciously, 
Aid hear me when I pray. 

My soul is troubled, and my breath 

Is panting to its close, 
And speedily the sleep of death 

Will bring my wish'd repose. 



200 the shepherd's garland. 

Thine anger hath my spirit cast 

To grief in all its forms — 
In prison Thou hast bound me fast, 

And vex'd me with Thy storms. 

My kindred their affection cease, 
And friends are banish'd far, 

And they who shew'd me love and peace 
Prepare themselves for war. 

Fastened in prison, by a cord, 

I cannot thence get free ; 
My sight too fails, yet daily, Lord ; 

I pour my prayers to Thee. 

Dost Thou shew wonders with the dead ? 

Or shall the dead arise, 
(When their delivered souls are fled) 

To offer sacrifice ? 

Shall the grave feel Thy smile of love, 
Or truth disperse its gloom ? 

Shall light descend from Heaven above, 
And penetrate the tomb ? 

And shall Thy works our praise command 

Where bodies lie and rot ? 
Or Thy uprightness cheer the land, 

Where all things are forgot ? 

Lord ! I have pray'd when sore distrest, 

And will repeat my cry ; 
But why dost Thou my soul detest, 

And from my presence fly ? 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 201 

I sorrow as the dying man 

Not unto death resign'd — 
And ever since my youth began, 

Thy terrors fill'd my mind. 

Thy wrath hath mingled with my blood ; 

Thy terrors still abide, 
And gather round me, like a flood, 

And press on ev'ry side. 

All my acquaintance from me stray ; 

No friends in me delight ; 
Or rather Thou hast put away 

My kindred from my sight. 



PSALM LXXXIX. v. 5. 

O Lord, the azure canopy 
Thy praise and glory paints ; 

And holy men proclaim thy truth, 
Amidst assembled saints. 

For who is He among the clouds 

That ought to be ador'd ? 
Or who is he, among the gods, 

Compar'd unto the Lord ? 

Thy sovereign mandate goes abroad 
When the wild ocean raves, 

And stills the whirling tempest's voice, 
And calms the raging waves. 



202 the shepherd's garland. 

The Firmament and starry height 
Were order'd by Thy skill, 

And in its circuits the round Earth 
Obeys Thy secret will. 

In every quarter of the globe 
Thou dost Thy love renew ; 

Tabor springs up at Thy command, 
And Hermon drops its dew. 

Thy arm is stretch'd, Thy hand is rais'd 

In Thy abiding place : 
Mercy and truth surround Thy throne, 

And go before Thy face. 

Blest are the people, O my God, 
That can rejoice in Thee ; 

They shall enjoy Thy light, and walk 
In peace and liberty. 



PSALM XC. 

Lord ! Thou hast prov'd, in every age, 

A refuge and a tower 
To those, who in Thy work engage, 

And trust unto Thy power. 

'Ere Mountains o'er the vale did nod, 
Globes roll, or skies depend, 

Thou art, from everlasting, God, 
And wilt be, without end. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 203 

A thousand ages, in Thy sight, 

Are but as yesterday ; 
Since, as the watches of the night, 

They quickly pass away. 

Thou scatter'st Nations in a mass 

As whirlwinds sweep the deep ; 
How suddenly they fade, like grass, 

And flee away, like sleep ! 

The plant was, in the morning, green, 

And flourish'd in the bower ; 
Pluck'd up and wither'd it was seen, 

'Ere clos'd the evening hour : 

So, thro' Thy wrath do we decay 

When Thy hand does unfold 
Our secret sins. Years pass away, 

Like fables often told. 

To seventy years men's lives extend ; 

Some live to fourscore years ; 
But oh ! how soon they reach their end, 

Worn out by toil, and tears. 

Lord ! teach us 'ere we yield our breath, 

To calculate our days ; 
So shall we quit the paths of death, 

And turn to Wisdom's ways. 

Lord ! let us hear again Thy voice, 

In mercy, not in strife ; 
So shall our hearts in Thee rejoice ; 

Our joy shall last for life. 



204 the shepherd's garland. 

Dry up the fountain of our tears ? 

And give our hearts relief, 
And satisfy us for the years, 

Wherein we suffer'd grief. 

Shew us Thy works in distant lands ; 

Thy wonders on the main ; 
Prosper the labour of our hands, 

O prosper it again. 



PSALM XCIII. 

God reigns in His eternal rest, 
Array'd in robes of light ; 

He hath put on His royal vest, 
And girt himself with might. 

He made the Universe secure, 
And hound its mass so fast ; 

It shall to distant years endure, 
But not for ever last. 

'Ere since created worlds began, 
Thou hast sustained command ; 

Thou didst preside, 'ere Chaos ran 
To form, beneath Thy hand. 

If to remotest time we go, 
Thy years beyond extend ; 

Thou never didst beginning know ; 
Nor e'er wilt know an end. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 205 

The floods are mingling with the sky ; 

The tempest howls and raves ; 
But yet the Lord that dwells on high, 

Is mightier than the waves. 

Lord ! of Thy goodness and Thy power 

Such varied proofs are given, 
That men should praise Thee, every hour, 

And live like Saints in Heaven. 



PSALM CVII. v. 1. 

Yield your thanksgiving to the Lord, 
(Whose stream of mercy ever flows) 

For hy His outstretch'd arm and sword, 
He hath redeemed thee from thy foes. 

They wander'd from their way aside, 
Lost in the trackless Wilderness ; 

But when unto the Lord they cried, 
He rescued them from their distress. 

He led them forth hy the right way, 
And fenc'd them from the rain and cold ; 

Thenceforth they never went astray, 
But hasten'd straightway to the fold. 

Oh ! then that men would praise the Lord, 
Their guide, deliverer, and their tower, 

Proclaim His goodness, trust His word, 
And magnify His sovereign power. 



206 the shepherd's GARLAND. 

PSALM CVII. v. 9. 

The empty soul God satisfies ; 

The hungry souls of goodness tell ; 
He makes His light midst darkness rise, 

And cheers the captive's lonely cell. 

Whene'er from God they turn'd aside, 
He Drought their hearts to heaviness ; 

But when again to Him they cried, 
He rescued them from their distress. 

He brought them from the darksome pit, 

Where they could scarcely draw their breath- 
No longer are they doom'd to sit 

'Midst dungeon's gloom, and shades of death. 

Oh ! then that men would praise the Lord ; 

Their guide, deliverer, and their tower ; 
Proclaim His goodness, trust His word, 

And laud and magnify His power. 



PSALM CVII. v. 23. 

They, who in vessels richly stor'd, 
The trackless ocean sweep, 

Behold the wonders of the Lord ; 
His greatness in the deep. 

For at the voice of His command, 
The stirring whirlwind raves, 

And drives before it clouds of sand, 
And waves surmounting waves. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 207 

But when unto the Lord they cry, 

With fears of death distrest ; 
His mandate regulates the sky, 

And lulls the sea to rest. 

How glad, when they draw near the heach, 

Where merchantmen resort ; 
Or see their shatter'd vessels reach, 

At length, the wish'd for port ! 

Oh ! then that men would praise the Lord, 

Their fortress and their tower ; 
Proclaim His goodness, trust His word, 

And magnify His power. 



PSALM CVII. v. 32. 

To vocal praise unto the Lord 
Unite your instrumental strings, 

Who draineth marshes hy His word, 
And drieth up the water springs. 

He maketh hare the fruitful land, 
Wherever wicked men ahound ; 

When they repent, pools drench the sand, 
And fountains hurst from thirsty ground. 

And there He setteth those, that want, 
To fence their lands, and houses rear ; 

To sow their fields, and vineyards plant, 
To yield them fruit, for every year. 



208 the shepherd's garland. 

Upon the new-rais'd colony, 

He pours His beaming smiles of love : 
Their children grow and multiply, 

And all the cattle fruitful prove. 

But when again they are brought low 
By plague, oppression, or distress, 

He suffers them once more to go 
Into the barren Wilderness. 

Yet He calls back the wandering poor, 
As He beholds them when they weep, 

And guides them to an household door, 
As shepherds guide and fold their sheep. 

The Righteous shall discern God's hand ; 

And Scoffers check each sneering word ; 
Wise men will muse, and understand 

The loving-kindness of the Lord. 



PSALM CXXI. 

Lord ! I will lift my straining eyes 

Unto the highest hills, 
Where all my consolations rise, 

And whence descend their rills. 

Assistance cometh from the Lord 
Who made both Heaven and earth ; 

He gave command, and at His word 
They spring to instant birth. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 209 

He never will permit thy foot 

To stumble in the way, 
But keeps it like a spreading root, 

Immoveable in clay. 

The Saints experience His regards 

Upon the land and deep, 
For He that Israelis safety guards, 

Nor slumbers, nor shall sleep. 

The watchful shepherd shall not stray 

But keep thee in His sight ; 
No sun shall scorch thee in the day ; 

No moon shall burn by night. 

Thou goest forth at break of day, 

Whilst wife and children mourn ; 
The Lord precedes thee in the way, 

And blesses thy return. 



PSALM CXXX. 

O Lord ! from troubles deep as hell, 

I call'd 'till I was faint : 
Oh ! let thine ears consider well 

The voice of my complaint. 

Shouldst Thou mark with extremity 
Each wayward act and word, 

And reckon each delinquency, 
Who could abide it, Lord ? 



210 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 

Thou shalt be fear'd, who didst impart 

A balm for every tear — 
Lord ! make my heart a contrite heart, 

And guide me in Thy fear. 

My every act I will controul 

By looking to the Lord ; 
For Him most truly waits my soul : 

My trust is in His word. 

Soon as the earliest sunbeams start 

To glimmer in the sky, 
Unto thy mercy-seat my heart 

In gratitude shall fly. 

O Israel, trust thy Saviour — God ; 

Without delay begin ; 
He then will lay aside His rod, 

And blot out all Thy sin. 



PSALM CXXXII. 

The King of Israel look'd around 

For solace in his grief, 
And pledg'd a vow, and only found 

In that same vow relief. 

I will not to my house repair ; 

Mine eyelids shall not close ; 
And neither eyes nor head shall dare 

To slumber or repose, 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 211 

Until I find a spot to raise 

A temple to the Lord, 
Where men shall offer prayer and praise, 

And hear His holy word. 

They iiam'd a place at Ephratah ; 

We found it in the wood ; 
There will we spend the Sabbath-day, 

And feed on heavenly food. 

There on our God will we attend 

And listen to His call ; 
Our hands shall rise, our knees shall bend 

And at His footstool fall. 

Arise, O Lord, unto Thy rest ; 

Thy ancient strength employ ; 
Priests shall with righteousness be drest, 

And Saints shall sing with joy. 

Lord ! turn not Thou away Thy face 

From Thy anointed King ; 
For Thou hast said, that from his race 

Messiah's birth shall spring. 

The Lord hath chosen Sion's Hill 

Which He had lov'd so well — 
This is my rest — there with Him still 

Will I delight to dwell. 



o 2 



212 the shepherd's garland. 



PSALM CXXXVII. 

By Babylonian streams we sate, 
Bewailing Judah's captive state, 
When lo ! insulting foes demand 
Our native songs, in Stranger's Land. 

Unfeeling tyrants, how can we 

Attune our hearts to melody, 

For our fond thoughts the while would stray 

To friends and country, far away ! 

Our songs of praise sweet music made, 
Under the vine, and fig-leafs shade ; 
No sound is here, but of the breeze 
That moans amidst the willow-trees. 

Can hearts indite a joyous strain, 

Cast down with grief, or wrung with pain ? 

Not to Barbarian ears belong, 

The Hebrew's voice, the Temple's song. 

Our ancient symphonies are still, 
Inspir'd no more by Zion's Hill, 
And every instrument is mute, 
The tabor, dulcimer, and lute. 

Our harps on drooping boughs are hung — 
Their chords untouch'd, their tunes unsung. 
How can ye Zion's songs demand 
From Pilgrims, in a heathen land ? 






THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 213 

Oh ! grant us quickly to return 

To babes that weep, and sires that mourn, 

Then will we laud, in jubilee, 

The grave of our captivity. 

If e'er Jerusalem should prove 
A stranger to my bosom's love ; 
Should I not prize it in my mirth, 
Above all other joys on earth, 

Nor mourn to see its glory set ; 
Its cunning let my hand forget, 
And let my heart and tongue despair, 
To join again in psalm and prayer. 

O miserable Babylon ! 
May every daughter, every son, 
Near alien waters, feel our pain, 
Weep oft as we, and weep in vain. 

Blest be the hand that makes them fall, 
And dashes them against the wall, 
And thus the injuries repay, 
Which we endure from day to-day. 



PSALM CXXXIX. v. 1. 

Lord ! Thou didst mark mine eyelids close, 
And sooth them when they shunn'd repose ; 
Thou know'st the secrets of my breast 
'Ere they escape in words exprest. 



214 the shepherd's garland. 

Thy watchful eyes around are spread, 
To guard the paths my footsteps tread. 
Where then shall I direct my flight, 
Or from Thy presence, or Thy sight ? 
If my freed soul should upwards tend, 
Or to sepulchral depths descend, 
In either region thou shalt dwell, 
Enthron'd in clouds, or visible. 
If on the wings of morn I ride, 
Or in the utmost sea abide, 
Thy shadow round me shall be cast, 
And Thy right hand shall hold me fast. 
When sunbeams cease to cheer the way, 
Then shall my night be turn'd to day. 

The darkness is not dark to Thee ; 
The night is clear, as day can be ; 
The lightest day, the darkest night 
Spread equal lustre in Thy sight. 



PSALM CXXXIX. v. 13. 

My heart shall muse in grateful thought ; 

My speech shall magnify Thy name, 
O Lord ! for Thine own hand hath wrought 

The curious texture of my frame. 

My bones are not concealed from Thee, 

Before the period of my birth, 
Tho* I was fashion'd secretly, 

And drew my substance from the earth. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 215 

Thine eyes watch'd o'er my frame within, 

'Ere it felt sunshine or the storm — 
Thy book hath register'd each limb, 

'Ere it assum'd its proper form. 

Search to the corners of my heart 

With Thine all-penetrating sight, 
And make each sinful thought depart, 

And turn the darkness into light. 

Cleanse the depravities that lurk 

In the recesses of my breast ; 
Thou hast begun, complete the work, 

And guide me to Thy heavenly rest. 



HYMN 

FOR THE SACRAMENT OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 

On yonder altar let us pay 
Our debt of gratitude, this day, 
To Christ, who as our surety stood, 
And seal'd our pardon with His blood. 

As man He could not satisfy : 

As God of Heaven, He could not die ; 

Put as united God and man, 

He wrought Redemption's wondrous plan. 

Oh ! let us to yon altar go, 
And view by faith the scene of woe, 
Where meritorious blood was spilt, 
A sacrifice for human guilt. 



216 the shepherd's garland. 

Let not that earthly vulture, Care, 
Obtrude its visitations there : 
Our souls absorb'd in heavenly love, 
Will antedate the joys above. 



FUNERAL HYMN. 

What scenes open to our view, 

When we yield our struggling breath? 

Shall we lost delights renew, 

When we pass the vale of death ? 

We are taught by God's own word, 
That when elos'd our mortal race, 

We shall meet our gracious Lord ; 
We shall see Him face to face. 

We shall join those friends again, 
Whose departure we deplore ; 

Rapture will succeed to pain, 
When we meet to part no more. 

CHORUS. 

Willingly we yield our breath, 
Fearless of the pangs of death ; 
Guide us, Lord, to those we love ; 
Realize the joys above. 



THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 217 

HYMN 

FOR THE CHILDREN OF NATIONAL, OR SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 

Thou, Lord, enthron'd above the skies, 
From suckling babes ordainest might ; 

To Thee our prayer and praise shall rise, 
Like sacrifices to Thy sight. 

Train up our docile minds to know 

The merits of the Saviour's plan, 
And grant that we may always grow, 

In favour both with God and man. 

Increase their joy, and bless their store, 
Who sav'd us from the sinner's doom, 

And we will bless, for evermore, 

The care that guards our moral bloom. 

While some Thy sacred truths deny, 

We listen to Thy holy word ; 
And long as Heaven shall breath supply, 

Our hearts and lips shall praise the Lord. 

The vaulted sky the sound repeats 
When with God's praise our temples ring, 

And Seraphs from their list'ning seats 
Attend, well pleased, while children sing. 



THE REDEEMED. Rev. vii. v. 13. 

An Elder asked me, who are they 
Who stand confest a chosen band, 

Destin'd thro' all eternity, 

To minister at God's right hand ? 



218 the shepherd's garland. 

Did they arrive from distant lands 

Where streams of blood were seen to flow ? 

They hold palm branches in their hands ; 
Their robes are wash'd and pure as snow. 

I said, thou knowest — He replied, 
They in that station long have stood ; 

And, when on earth, were purified 
In founts of water and of blood. 

Their eyelids once o'erflow'd with tears ; 

Their limbs the martyr's scars retain ; 
Now ransom'd from a world of fears, 

They know no sorrow, feel no pain. 

No grief at dearth of meat or drink 

Will, to complaints, their souls betray ; 

Nor shall the solar light or heat 

Shine on them in their heavenly way. 

The Lamb shall rid them of their fears 
And satisfy them with delight ; 

And God shall wipe away all tears 

That swell the heart and dim the sight. 

To watch and sentinel the Throne, 
To them the glorious post is given ; 

They join the chaunt, " God's will be done 
On earth, as it is done in Heaven." 



THE SHEPHERD^ GARLAND. 219 



THE JUDGEMENT-DAY. 

Come, oh ! come the King will say ; 
Haste hither, haste, and come away, 
For when ye saw me in the street 
Pining for want, ye gave me meat. 
When from the storm ye saw me shrink, 
Ye sheltered me. Ye gave me drink, 
When thirsty. 1 remember well 
Ye visited my prison cell. 
Ye rais'd the pillow for my head, 
And sooth'd me on my dying bed. 
The righteous shall reply, and say, 
When did we feed Thee in the way, 
And do those other works of love 
To be repaid with joys above ? 
The King replies, each charity 
To others done, was done to me. 

How will they on the left-hand, start, 
When they shall catch the words, depart 
Ye cursed to the quenchless flame 
That burns with vengeance and with shame. 
For when ye saw me in the street 
Pining for want, ye gave no meat. 
When from the storm ye saw me shrink, 
Ye gave me no shelter, gave no drink ; 
Foremost ye were among the gay, 
When I in dungeon darkness lay ; 
Ye never comforted my head, 
Nor visited my dying bed. 



220 THE shepherd's garland. 

Tb/ unrighteous shall reply, and say, 
Lord ! we ne'er met Thee in the way ; 
Never refus'd Thee acts of love, 
For which Thou dost us now reprove. 

Neglect and Inhumanity, 

Shewn to the poor, are shewn to me, 

Rejoins the King. Enter the flame. 

That burns with vengeance, and with shame. 



NOTES 



Page 5. 

THE SOLDIER'S ADIEU 

Was icritten in answer to the following Song by Mrs. Opie. 

** Go, youth belov'd, in distant glades, 
New friends, new hopes, new joys to find, 
Yet sometimes deign 'midst fairer maids, 
To think on her thou leav'st behind. 

Thy love, thy fate, dear youth, to share, 
Must never be my happy lot ; 
But thou may'st grant this humble prayer, 
" Forget me not, forget me not." 

Yet should the thought of my distress 
Too painful to thy feelings be, 
Heed not the wish I now express, 
Nor ever deign to think on me : 

But oh ! if grief thy steps attend, 
If want, if sickness, be thy lot, 
And thou require a soothing friend, 
" Forget me not, forget me not" 



222 NOTES. 

Page 13. 

EVELINA. 

As Translated from the Irish. 

" It was on the white hawthorn, on the brow of the valley, I saw 
the rising of the day first break, the young, the soft, the gay delight- 
ful morning : it kissed the crimson of the rose, mixed with her smiles, 
and laughed the season on us. Rise, my Evelina : soul, that informs 
my heart ! Do thou rise, too, more lovely than the morn in her 
blushes, more modest than the rifled rose when weeping in her dews, 
pride of the western shores ! 

" The sky's blue face, when cleared by dancing sunbeams, looks 
not serener than thy countenance : the richness of the wild honey is 
on thy lip, and thy breath exhales sweets like the apple-blossom ; 
black are thy locks, my Evelina, and polished as the raven's smooth 
pinions ; the swan's silver plumage is not fairer than thy neck, — and 
the witch of love heaves all her enchantments from thy bosom. Rise> 
my Evelina, the sprightly beam of the sun descends to kiss thee, and 
the heath reserves its blossoms to greet thee with its odours ; thy 
timid lover will pluck the strawberries from the awful lofty crag, and 
rob the hazel of its auburn pride, the sweetness of whose kernel thou 
far exceedest ; let my berries be as red as thy lips, and my nuts ripe, 
yet milky, as the love-begotten fluid in thy bridal bosom. 

Queen of the cheerful smile ! shall I not meet thee in the moss 
grown cave, and press to my heart thy beauties, in the wood of 
Iniscothern ? How long wilt thou leave me, Evelina, mournful as the 
lone Son of the Rock ; telling thy beauties to the passing gale, and 
pouring out my complaints to the grey stone of the valley ? 

Whenever thou comest, Evelina, thou approachest like summer 
to the children of frost ; and welcome with rapture are thy steps to my 
view, as the harbinger of light to the eye of darkness." 



Page 23. 

THE HERMIT, AT DRONNINGAARD. 

" Dronningaard, which is the first private residence in Den- 
mark, lies about sixteen English miles from the City; the grounds 
which are very extensive, and tastefully laid out, slope down to a 
noble Lake, twelve English miles in circumference, and is skirted 
with fine woods, and romantic country houses. At the end of a 



NOTES. 223 

beautiful walk, I was struck with the appearance of an elegant marble 
column on a tablet affixed to which was inscribed, 

" This monument is erected in gratitude to a mild and beneficent 
Government, under whose auspices I enjoy the blessings that 
surround me." 

11 In another part of the grounds, in a spot of deep seclusion, we 
beheld the ruins of an hermitage, before which was the channel of a 
little brook, then dried up ; and a little further in a nook, an open 
grave and a tomb-stone. The story of this retired spot deserves to be 
mentioned. Time has shed many winter snows upon the romantic 
beauties of Dronningaard, since one, who weary of the pomp of 
courts and the tumult of camps, in the prime of life, covered with 
honours and fortune, sought from its hospitable owner permission to 
raise a sequestered cell, in which he might pass the remainder of his 
days in all the austerities of an Anchorite. 

"This singular man had, long previous to the Revolution in 
Holland, distinguished himself at the head of his regiment, but in an 
unhappy moment, the love of aggrandizement took possession of his 
heart, and marrying under its influence, misery followed, and here in 
a litle wood of tall firs, he raised this simple fabrick : moss warmed ir 
within, and the bark of the birch defended it without ; a stream of 
rock-water once ran in a bed of pebbles before the door, in which 
the young willow dipt its leaves : and at a little distance from a bed 
of wild roses, the laburnum gracefully rose and suspended her yellow 
flowers: he selected an adjoining spot for the depository of his remains, 
when death 

like a lover's pinch 
That hurts, but is desired, 

should have terminated all his sufferings here. Every day he dug a 
small portion of his grave, until he had finished it : he then composed 
his Epitaph in French, and had it inscribed upon a stone. It has 
been translated as follows, by Mr. Havley. 

THE HERMIT'S EPITAPH. 

"Here may he rest who shunning scenes of strife, 
Enjoyed at Dronningaard a Hermit's life ; 
The faithless splendor of a Court he knew, 
And all the ardor of the tented field, 
Soft passion's idler charm, not less untrue 
And all that listless luxury can yield. 
He tasted, tender love ! thy chaster sweet ; 
Thy promis'd happiness prov'd mere deceit ! 
To Hymen's hallow'd fane by Reason led, 
He deein'd the path he trod the path of bliss ; 



224 NOTES. 

Oh ! ever mourn'd mistake ! from interest bred, 
Its dupe was plung'd in misery's abyss. 
But friendship ofFer'd him, benignant power, 
Her cheering hand, in troubles darkest hour. 
Beside, this shaded stream her soothing voice 
Bade the disconsolate again rejoice ; 
Peace in his heart revives, serenely sweet ; 
The calm content so sought for as his choice, 
Quits him no more in this belov'd retreat." 

Carr's Northern Summer. 



Page 139. 

" Perhaps, in days more fortunate, they gave 
Drink to the thirsty, to the hungry, food." 

" A young German Nobleman, who had for a long time indulged 
himself in the usual follies of his age, with the utmost thoughtlessness 
and extravagance, was put into the Politzey, by his creditors. In this 
deplorable situation, abandoned by all his former acquaintances, a 
damsel of the common class, who shared his purse in better days, 
remained true to him. She followed him to prison, waited on him 
with unwearied care, during a violent illness with which he was 
attacked, supplied him with all kinds of necessaries, sold, when all 
her money was gone, what furniture and clothes she had, and at 
length went about begging for her unfortunate friend. At the end 
of eleven months, on his being released by death from this unhappy 
condition, she caused him to be decently interred with the remainder 
of the alms she had procured, and then consented to the offer of 
marriage, long ago made her, by a man in good circumstances, with 
whom she might have enjoyed the conveniences and pleasures of life, 
and which she had hitherto refused, only because she thought it 
dishonourable to forsake her first lover in his distress. 

Storch's Picture of Petersburgh, p. 152. 



THE END. 



Hihiar, Printer, Warminster. 



ERRATA. 

Page 7, eighth line, first Sonnet, for " terror" read " tenor. 
15, third line, for " or" read " on." 
26, third verse, for "af" read "of." 

102, eighth line, for " beguile" read " beguil'd." 

103, fifteenth line, for " light" read "sight." 

119, eighth line, for "assinjulated" read " assimilated." 
143, last line, for " restropect" read " retrospect." 



Published by the same Author, and may be had of the 
same Booksellers, 

BIDCOMBE HILL, 

A RURAL AND DESCRIPTIVE POEM, 

Second Edition, with Plates, 

AND 

AN ESSAY ON LOCAL POETRY. 



A SERMON 

FOR GOOD f -FRIDAY. 



In the press, and will be published early in May, 
A VOLUME 

OP 

SERMONS, 

ON 

SIGNS AND SEASONS, DAYS AND YEARS. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 546 093 1 %\ 



